Ron Weasley and the Armor of Gryffindor
by Gawaine
Summary: COMPLETE. A Year-Six epic fic. Ron will soon realize that he has a chance to be a hero in the fight against Voldemort, but will his new responsibility come with a cost?
1. The Burrow

Ronald Weasley and the Armor of Gryffindor

**Summary:** Year Six fic, from Ron's Point of View. Ron recognizes that he's needed, but what will his newfound sense of responsibility cost him? 

**Ships:** H/GW, R/HG

**Spoilers:** The first five canon books.

Chapter One : At the Burrow

* * *
    
    
    
    
    If I had a formula for bypassing trouble, I would not pass it
    around. Trouble creates a capacity to handle it. I don't say
    embrace trouble; that's as bad as treating it as an enemy.
    But I do say meet it as a friend, for you'll see a lot of it and
    you had better be on speaking terms with it.
    
    
    
    
     -- Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.
    
    
    

Ronald Weasley had always enjoyed his summers at the Burrow, especially when he was able to spend them with his friends. The lack of constant classes and school events was made all the better by the prospects of repeated Quidditch games in the backyard, and as long as he was able to avoid degnoming, he could imagine few things like it in the world.

He knew that he was alone among his friends in that. Harry Potter had told him more than once that going to Hogwart's was like going home, and while he thought that Harry liked being at the Burrow as well, he could tell that there was always some awkwardness.

Hermione Granger, of course, was just mental. She might as well still be at school -- she kept trying to get Ron to sit with her and work on their Potions assignments. She wasn't after Harry, though - she seemed to be almost avoiding him. If all she cared about was getting her schoolwork done, Ron reflected, she might as well not even have a summer vacation - but when he said that to her, she just said something nasty back to him and let him stew. If she didn't want to have fun, why'd she come in the first place?

Harry had spent only two weeks at the Dursley's this year before returning to the Burrow. He'd have a whole month before having to go back to school. He hadn't spoken much about it - he just showed up one day with Dumbledore, who had talked in hushed tones with Arthur. Ron heard only a few words from his father. "A Pig?... Moody?... And the Ministry...?" Dumbledore shook his head, and Arthur looked relieved. With hardly another word said, Harry was back in Ron's room for the summer.

He was outside now, flying on his Firebolt. Ron supposed he should head outside himself and join his best friend, but Hermione kept looking at him strangely every time he started to get up from the table. Then he heard Ginny's voice outside -- there was no way that she could be out there with his friend without him. Ron just slammed his quill down and started to go.

"Is something wrong, Ron?" Hermione asked, concern touching her voice.

"I just can't believe that Snape piled so much on me for the summer."

"What sorts of things did he give you? I only got two essays from him, and a small practical."

Ron looked at her in disbelief. "I knew he hated me! He gave me ten different essays. I need to write up a description of burn treatments, squirrel repellant, something on drowning prevention, an analysis of snake-bites, and... and I haven't even looked at the rest!"

Hermione started to say something, but her face turned bright red. "Oh, dear," she said, under her breath, and she leaned over her hands, shaking slightly.

"What is it Hermione?" Ron asked. He leaned over her, his Potions homework suddenly forgotten. "Are you OK?"

Just then, something small and gold came through the open window, flying upstairs. Ron could hear the sound of something else coming, pushing the air out of the way. He shoved Hermione off her chair roughly, and under the kitchen table, just in time to avoid the path of two blurs, which followed each other through the window and up the stairs.

Ron looked at Hermione, and saw tears in her eyes, but a smile on her cheeks. "Are you OK?" he asked, and then was suddenly aware that he was, well, a little on top of her, and one of his hands was somewhere that it probably wasn't supposed to be, and he was feeling a little warm. He drew back quickly, hitting his head against the table, but Hermione acted like she didn't notice. She held up her hands, and seemed to be counting down to something. When she reached one, Ron winced, and the house shook. Hermione had become much to good at knowing his Mother's reaction time.

"VIRGINIA ELIZABETH WEASLEY, HOW COULD YOU! Quidditch in THE HOUSE! Harry, be a dear and take the snitch outside, will you, and make sure to close the window this time. I'm afraid you'll have to play without Ginny for a while, she's going to be doing some degnoming." Molly marched Ginny outside, pulling her broom away from her as they walked.

Ron looked at Hermione again, whispering to avoid his mother's notice. "Are you OK? You're still shaking."

"I think so. I just understood something, but I'm not sure if I should tell you." She was starting to shake again, but this time Ron could tell she was trying to hold back laughter. Those weren't tears of sadness.

"Well, what is it?" Ron was trying to be patient. He'd waited almost a whole five seconds before asking, after all.

"The last day... the last day of the term..." she was really shaking now, "I saw Snape talking to Trelawney - she was handing over some thick scrolls. I didn't think much of it, but he said something about needing to make sure his students were prepared for what they'd seen coming."

Ron blanched. "You mean - all those things Harry and I said were going to happen to each other?"

She'd given up trying to control it now.

"Bugger," was all Ron could say.

He saw Harry trying to pass the table quietly, and yelled out to him, a gleam in his eyes. "Hey, mate!"

"Yeah, Ron. What are the two of you doing under there? Looks kind of... cozy."

Ron ignored the implied tease, and asked the burning question that had just occurred to him. "Have you started your Potions homework?"

"No, I hadn't yet. Snape said it wasn't that bad, so I was just leaving it for a while."

"He said that?" Ron asked, starting to wonder if Snape had started favoring the Boy-Who-Lived after all.

"Well, not exactly. But he said it wasn't anything I wouldn't have already expected."

Ron's hysterical laughter mystified Harry and Ginny, but it was cut short by a mouthful of owl. The owl was strangely colored, mauve and green, and its feathers were at awkward angles. It tasted like perfume, and Ron spat it out without hesitation. A scroll of parchment was tied to its leg.

Harry picked up the owl, and pulled the parchment off it, but only for a moment. He yelped, "Ow!" as sparks flew from it to his hands, and he dropped it back to the ground. Everyone took a step back, and the owl flew out the window.

"Be careful," Ron said solemnly. "It might be from You-Know-Who."

"I think it's more likely that it's from our witless brothers," Ginny spoke up. "I don't think fireworks and a sparking charm is quite You-Know-Who's speed."

"Good point," Hermione agreed. She bent to one knee, looking closely at it, without touching it at all. "It's addressed to you."

Ron looked down reluctantly. "Do I want to open it?"

"Yes, you do," Hermione looked back up. "I'm sure not going to touch it."

Ron shrugged. "Well, if you insist." He bent over and picked it up gingerly, but there were no sparks. The parchment was more crumpled than rolled up, and it took Ron a few moments to straighten it out. He pronounced, "If Fred and George sent this, they're more wacked than I thought."

It wasn't blank, but it didn't contain anything useful either. It appeared to contain a bunch of letters, cut from various headlines. They were glossy, some red, some black, others white on black writing, but they didn't seem to spell out anything.

Hermione peered at it for a moment. "It's not from Fred and George."

"How do you know?" Ron was mystified.

"It's from Luna," she proclaimed, pointing at the letters, which Ron guessed must have come from the Quiddler, where Luna's father worked. "Who else would have this many red Q's to play with? Besides, I remember her mentioning this charm."

"Which charm?" Ron didn't mean to be snide, but she had to narrow it down a little.

"This one," Hermione said. She took Ron's hand, pulling it towards the parchment. She had him tap it three times, and the letters pulled apart. The shreds of letters rearranged. "It only works for the one it's addressed to," Hermione said, "although it's not too secure."

Ron looked at it. "I'm not sure how much more sense it makes now."

Dear Ron,

I wondered how your summer was going. There's been a rash of dark house-elf attacks in your neighborhood. They don't usually pick on homes without house-elves of their own, so you should be safe, but you should consider putting an iron horseshoe under your window in any case. 

I know that SOME people might not think that this was a very secure way to send a letter, but I don't think a dark house-elf would be able to break it anyway. Everyone knows that they're afraid of red letters.

Take Care,

Luna

Harry scratched his head. "I've never heard of dark house-elves."

Hermione's scathing tone could have stripped paint. "There's no such thing. Don't tell me that you believe a single thing that she says..."

Her tirade was cut short abruptly, when Ron's father Apparated into the room. He looked disheveled and worn, and Ron realized he hadn't seen him the night before. Ron jumped up, catching him moments before he could fall.

"Thanks, Ron. Could you help me to the couch?"

Ron happily agreed. "Are you alright, Dad?"

"I've been better. Could you perhaps get me something to drink?"

"Sure." Ron went to get his father some pumpkin juice. When he returned, Hermione was sitting across from him, already talking. "Here you go, Dad," he said, putting the cup down. "Should I get Mum?"

"Yes, you probably better. And I suppose you should get Harry, as well. I've just about given up on trying to keep bad news away from the three of you."

Hermione stood up. "I'll get them, you keep him company."

"Thanks," Ron murmured to her, as she passed. Hermione was almost too thoughtful. He knew she was trying to make sure he could spend every second possible with his father. He had been shaken by last year's events, just as his whole family had been. The near death of his father at the hands of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been a life-changing event for Ron, and the death of Sirius Black had brought home to him just how close to the edge they were all living.

"So, how are things," his father managed.

"Going alright, I guess. Trying to work through my potions homework."

"Really? I must be more tired than I thought. I thought I was talking to my son, Ron."

Ron flushed, and started to make excuses. "Well, I've got a lot to do this summer. Snape's really piling it on." Ron felt a little odd making excuses for studying; usually it was the other way around.

Arthur laughed, and he looked much better as he did so. "You don't have to explain it to me." He leaned in closer. "It's Hermione, isn't it?"

Ron heard the door shut, and Ginny came running in, followed closely by Molly. Harry and Hermione were walking behind them, trying to avoid being run over by the impromptu Weasley stampede. "Dad!" Ginny cried, running over to hug him.

"Now, now, it's not like it's the first time I've been up all night," Arthur patted her on the back. "There's no reason to take it like that."

Ron felt almost jealous at the way Ginny could casually just grab his father. He'd never been the baby of the family, since she was only ten months younger than him, and he'd never gotten quite as much attention as her.

Harry and Hermione filled in the circle of family, on either side of Ron, and waited patiently as Molly took her turn throwing her arms around her husband. "Arthur, what's wrong? It's not the boys, is it?" She looked terrified.

Arthur shook his head. "No, no, nothing like that. They're all fine, as far as I know. It's something else." He looked around the family. "Ginny, I don't think you need to be involved in this."

"Why not?" she looked at him fiercely, as if she hadn't just been holding onto him for dear life.

"Well, I just don't like getting you involved in things like this," Arthur was looking at Ron for support. Ron was grateful that he'd avoided this aspect of being the baby of the family, but he knew he was expected to support his father.

"Please, Mister Weasley," Harry spoke up. "She's as much a part of everything as the rest of us. She'll only worm it out of me later, anyway."

Arthur looked at him seriously. "Alright, Harry, if that's the way you both want it." He took in a deep breath. "There's been a theft, and a rather serious one."

"What was stolen? Who was it stolen from?" Ron asked. He noticed that Hermione had already grabbed a parchment from their homework, and was taking notes.

Arthur smiled at his youngest son's eagerness to help. "It was in the British Magical Museum. They've got an exhibit on the Dark Ages, which has a small display on Hogwarts. The whole section on Salazar Slytherin was wiped out. A few books were taken, and so were the replicas of some famous artifacts."

"Do you have any idea who would have done it?"

"We already know. There was a witness. It was You-Know-Who."

"In person?" Ron was aghast.

Arthur nodded his head.

Voldemort had done very little in person after his return, until he was spotted at the Ministry. Since then, it wasn't known how much he was involved in most of the Death Eater Attacks, since there hadn't been any survivors.

"I'm going to kill him." Harry's voice sounded almost eerie.

Ron nodded, but was looking at him kind of queerly. "Sure you are, mate."

"No!" Harry looked stern. "I mean it. I know it's my job, and no one else's. I'm going to kill him." Clenching his fists, Harry went up to his room, leaving everyone else dumbfounded. Something about the way that Ginny stared after him made Ron worried, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

Ron was worried about his little sister. She had made a big deal of getting over the crush she'd had on Harry, and had moved on to little adolescent crushes with other boys at school. Some of them weren't even Gryffindors. It seemed so normal, so much like what you'd expect a normal girl, going on fifteen years old, would do, that it seemed somehow out of character.

Ginny was so mental sometimes. She could act like a flighty teenager, chatting with the other girls about boys, but then there'd be something lurking underneath that reminded him that she'd almost died, and that she'd risked her life for her friends. 

He wasn't sure how those pieces fit together, or if they even did. He wondered if one of them was the real Ginny, and the other just a mask that she wore for other people, or even just for her own sake. He wondered how well he really knew her, after all this time. Watching her watch Harry, he wondered if she'd really gotten over the crush at all.

Ron wasn't sure how he felt about that. It had all been a big joke in her first year, but it was starting to get less funny. It would be easier if he knew which Ginny cared about him, whether it was the somewhat zany, immature, flighty Ginny, that he'd have to warn off, or if it was the serious, dangerous, brave Ginny, that he'd be afraid to.

He shrugged off the worry for the moment -- Harry wasn't really letting anyone approach him that closely right now, the occasional Quidditch game aside, and he didn't need to risk ruining the summer right now. It looked like You-Know-Who was going to work hard enough at that without him.

Arthur looked at Ron. "We need to talk."

"Later, dear, you need your rest," Molly interrupted. "Here, children, help me get him upstairs."

Arthur didn't resist being helped upstairs, but insisted on having Ron stay with him. "I need to talk to you, now, alone."

Ginny looked ready to protest, but her father's stern tone, heard rarely in this house, didn't leave much room for disagreement. Molly pulled her downstairs to work on some fictional task, and Ron sat down next to his father.

"What is it, Dad?"

"I didn't want to worry everyone, but, well, the Order had heard that there was going to be a break in at the museum. I volunteered to go last night, but I didn't want to worry your Mum..."

"You saw him?" Ron interrupted, eyes wide as saucers.

Arthur nodded. "I'm very lucky. He only... only Cruciated me."

"That's lucky?" Ron was flabbergasted.

"It could have been the Killing Curse." Arthur's composed tone couldn't hide his sudden pallor, which let his son know just how close it could have been. Ron's mouth hung open. He could have lost his father, again.

Arthur continued with difficulty, "Ron, this is important. You saw Harry's face downstairs -- he means it, he'll try to kill him. He's not ready, though, and he can't do it alone."

"I don't know if I can keep him from trying, Dad. I tried to stop him last year, with Sirius, and he almost took my head off."

"I'm not asking you to stop him." Arthur was serious. "I'm asking you to help him, just as you always have. Be there for him, but... if you can, make sure that Dumbledore knows what you're doing, every step of the way. Or, if Dumbledore is out of touch, Snape."

"Snape? But Sirius would be alive if it weren't for that git."

"Ronald, you don't need to take that tone about a Professor," Arthur's spoke harshly. "I won't say that the man doesn't have his faults, but he's as incorruptible as Dumbledore. Maybe even..."

"What?"

"Nothing," Arthur shook his head. "Nothing for you to worry about. Now," he slapped his hands on his legs. "Just remember what I said, and not a word to anyone, alright?"

"Okay, Dad." Ron nodded. He left the room looking more sober than he had entered. Hermione kept giving him odd looks, and asking oblique questions, but he couldn't talk about it.

He had realized something. If his father had stopped telling him to keep out of trouble, that meant that not even his parents believed that it would be possible this year.

* * *

A/N: Thanks as always to my beta, Kianna. 


	2. Diagon Alley, the Train, and the Sorting

Ronald Weasley and the Armor of Gryffindor

**Chapter Two : Diagon Alley, The Hogwart's Express, and the Sorting**
    
    
    Common sense is the collection of prejudices
    acquired by age eighteen.
    -- Albert Einstein
    

Ron had to fight an uphill battle to convince his mother to let them all go to Diagon Alley without her or Arthur accompanying them. She had already ordered most of their books for delivery, and was only consenting because of the urgent need for new robes.

Harry needed them the most, of course. He was finally starting to see a growth spurt, although no one expected that it would land him within distance of Ron. His new height was making him look even more painfully thin, after his battles with grief and illness had stolen his appetite.

Hermione and Ginny also needed new robes desperately, but not because of their height. They'd been growing in other dimensions, and if Ron was happy to see it in Hermione's case, it still embarrassed him to hear her freely admit how tight her current robes were in talking to his mother. He was not overjoyed at all to hear Ginny talk about the same problem. They had started to voice some of the other needs that they would have at Madam Malkin's, but Ron managed to block them out entirely.

Ron's needs were less obvious, unless he wiggled his toes. For the last year, he'd been making do with an old pair of Charlie's boots, with an engorgement charm to make room. His feet were bigger than any of his brothers, and he'd felt far too guilty to make an issue of it, until the charm failed at the beginning of summer. His feet had been cramped and pained, and Molly reluctantly agreed that he needed to go in person to find a pair that would fit well enough.

The arguments were clear that they needed to go in person, but they were less so on the idea of going without Molly. Ron didn't care to have his mother there helping him pick out shoes. He knew that she wouldn't be making a big deal about going if it weren't for the fear that had gripped her over the previous year. She was normally pretty good about letting them be on their own around Diagon Alley.

In the end, she was convinced on economic grounds, more than anything else. There was so little Floo Powder left that she wasn't sure it would take all of them as it was. Fred and George were staying at the Burrow now, and she didn't want to leave them alone, but there was certainly not enough powder for the three of them to join Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny on their shopping trip. Ron suspected that Fred and George had planned it that way; at least, they took the news well, and he saw one of them wink at Harry.

Ron promised to pick up more powder while they were out, and Ginny swore that they'd all stay together, and that they wouldn't dawdle. Ron fully intended to keep his promise, but he didn't trust Ginny's intentions. She had a knowing smile on her face, and a twinkle in her eye that betrayed some mysterious intention.

Diagon Alley had changed from two years before. There was hardly anyone in the Leaky Caldron, and few people outside the shops. The people that were there were scurrying like insects before the light, almost running from shop to shop. No one seemed to be alone, and Ron didn't see anyone who looked like a Hogwarts first year. He wondered if this was how things had been during Voldemort's first reign of terror, before he'd crossed Harry's path the first time around.

Ginny almost immediately proposed that she take care of some small errands before meeting them at Madame Malkin's. Ron shook his head. "No way, Ginny. I'm not going to tell Mother that my dear ickle sister got herself all blown up because we didn't stay together."

Ginny had a set expression on her face. "Are you telling me that you don't think I can take care of myself?"

Ron wasn't particularly interested in being hexed into the middle of next week in the middle of Diagon Alley, especially by his ickle sister.

"How about I go with her?" Harry interjected. Ron looked at him in gratitude. He couldn't see Ginny refusing that.

Ron was right. Ginny looked grateful. "Sure, Harry, that would be great. I don't think Mother could argue with that, do you?"

Ron was unsure, but Hermione grabbed his arm, and spoke her piece. "I'm sure that will be alright. Just don't be long."

Ron knew he was outvoted. "Alright," he said, trying to portray confidence. "We'll see you both at Madame Malkin's."

Hermione was talking even more than usual, but Ron was mostly silent. "So," she went on, "it's great that we'll finally have our OWLs behind us, and be able to start on our NEWTs."

Ron groaned, but she didn't seem to notice. She just kept talking. "There's so much to do, of course, and I still need to figure out where I'm going after Hogwarts."

That was something Ron still couldn't believe -- he had more solid plans than Hermione did. His OWLs had actually been good enough for him to try for Auror, if only just barely. She had turned up her nose at the idea, even without any other plans.

She didn't seem really bothered by the fact, though, and she was still talking on breathlessly. "I hope we can catch up in Defense this year. We really improved during practice, but there's still tons to learn."

Ron was nodding, but he froze. "Look," he grunted.

Hermione didn't see what he was alarmed by, and started looking around frantically, before her eyes settled on Marcus Flint and Draco Malfoy, who were leaving Quality Quidditch Supplies together, with Crabbe and Goyle trailing behind. Marcus was playing Beater for the Doncaster Dragons, an enthusiastic second-rate team that made the Chudley Cannons look good.

Draco's eyes lit up when he saw the two Gryffindors, and he was visibly searching for more. He had changed over the summer - he hadn't cut his hair, and it now flowed freely down to his shoulders. His face had changed, as well, and he looked much more like his father. "Mudblood, Weasley, what a surprise? I almost didn't recognize you without the scarhead."

Flint smiled, looking intimidating. "Weasley, I wanted to thank you. You made me a lot of money last year, too bad you couldn't keep up your losing streak."

Ron ignored the former Hogwarts student, focusing on Malfoy. "I thought you were someone else for a minute. You look a lot like a wanted parchment I saw the other day."

"Looking for reward money Weasley? You might get enough to afford a new robe."

"No, I just realized it had been a while since I'd seen a Malfoy, and figured I'd look for your family portraits."

"It's good to be missed, Weasley. I'm surprised you're even acquainted with the idea, since with all the Weasleys running around home, no one could have ever missed you."

"What a coincidence! Even though you're the only Malfoy, I'm sure no one would ever miss you, either."

"Weasley, I'm surprised. I wouldn't have thought you'd have the courage to even talk to me without a dozen others behind you. Where's Potty?"

"He's off beating your boss, be back in a few minutes. I've got plenty enough courage for the likes of you."

Flint didn't seem to like being ignored. He had a bat in his hand, which he was idly swinging back and forth. As Ron's insults flowed, he edged closer to the Weasley boy, and carelessly swung the bat at the back of Ron's leg. Ron jumped out of the way. 

"Really, this has gone far enough," snapped Hermione, stomping her foot. "I believe we'll be going."

Marcus stepped even closer to Ron, breathing straight down at him. "I don't think we should let you. We haven't really been able to play with you, yet."

The almost empty streets didn't reveal anyone interested in Ron and Hermione's situation, and Crabbe and Goyle were moving to cut off retreat. Ron couldn't believe that Flint would take the risk of assaulting him on a public street, but he wasn't sure he could stop him, either. Harry was the hero; he was the one who was supposed to be in showdowns with villains, not him. Harry wasn't here, though.

There was absolute silence. Ron's hand was flexing, ready to go for his wand, but no one had taken the first step, yet. Flint looked like he was only waiting for someone else to make the first move, but Draco looked less sure. 

The door opened again behind Flint just as the graduate started to swing his bat, and a swift hand grabbed it, yanking it out of his hand. "Not too smart, eh there Flint?" Oliver Wood said laughingly from behind him. "You miss picking on Gryffindor's enough that you had to do it in front of a publicity event?"

Behind Oliver, Ron saw a number of familiar faces peering through the open door, including more than a few Quidditch players. None of them were top stars, but they were all recognizable to Ron.

Oliver looked at him and Hermione. "Well, go on then. No need to keep standing there gawking." Crabbe moved out of the way, and Hermione pulled Ron through the gap. Malfoy called after him. "Go ahead, run, Weasley. You can't always have someone else there to pull you out of trouble."

Ron tried to pull away from Hermione, to teach the insufferable Slytherin a lesson, but she wouldn't let him go. "Ron," she whispered through gritted teeth, "we don't have time to play with Malfoy."

Ron let himself be dragged away. Malfoy's sneer was still on his mind, though. Couldn't Ron even defend his friend against a threat without Harry around? Malfoy obviously didn't think so, and neither did Oliver. It was obvious that Hermione didn't have any faith in him, or she probably wouldn't have pulled him away. He wasn't so sure himself.

Ron managed to stop by the shoe store on the way to the dress robe shop, and was delighted to have Hermione's advice on what looked good. He couldn't get the best, of course, but he didn't think most people could tell the difference, anyway. If Hermione thought that the pair of faux dragon-hide riding boots he'd gotten were sufficient, that was all that really mattered. He couldn't understand the giggle of the sales girl or her looks at Hermione, though. Why did it matter that he had really big feet? Some people were amused by the strangest things. Her advice helped him to forget his run in with Malfoy, though, and he hoped he was overreacting to her lack of faith in him.

He didn't reciprocate with the help at Madame Malkin's. He was happy to issue one-word opinions on the colors that Hermione looked at, but he was sure that most of them would look smashing on her, not that he'd say it in as many words. She didn't seem too put out by his inability to express an opinion, looking more amused than anything by his stammering. When it came to styles, he couldn't even talk about them. He felt that anything he would say would come uncomfortably close to commenting on the reasons that she needed new robes, and that was a line he wasn't coming anywhere near.

Hermione was almost finished at Madame Malkin's by the time Harry and Ginny showed up, both carrying bags. Ginny looked white-faced, and Ron jumped up in alarm. Harry held out his hand to stop him, though. "Don't worry, mate. It's just the side-effect of a trip on a Goblin cart."

Ginny nodded. "We didn't want to split up, and Harry had to go down to his vault. I came with him -- it was worse than falling off a broom."

Ron was relieved, but still irritated. "You took Ginny down to your parents' vault? Is that really appropriate?"

Harry shrugged. "Needed to be done. What are you worried about, anyway?"

Ron shook his head. "Nothing, I guess."

Hermione came out of the back room with a pile of boxes, some of which were very, very, small. Ron tried not to think about what they could be for. His discomfort distracted him from his inquisition of his friend long enough for Harry to slip in and start getting measured.

When he came back out, Hermione was telling them about their encounter with the Malfoy. She sounded almost proud of him, which amazed him. He had been sure that he'd totally unimpressed her earlier. Ron wondered briefly why he cared so much what she thought, but he didn't linger on the thought. He wasn't much given to self-analysis. He still wished he had been able to pop the Slytherin one, though.

After spending far too much money at Madame Malkin's, the group finally made their way back to the Burrow by floo powder. Ron kept an eye out for Malfoy, but didn't see him or his goons. He was almost sorry about that, since it meant that he didn't have a chance to redeem himself in his own eyes.

~.~.~

The trip to Platform 9 3/4 was no more leisurely than usual. Harry and Ron had spent the last two weeks breathlessly working through their Potions assignments. Professor Snape probably felt personally offended that all three of his least favorite Gryffindor troublemakers were going to be in his NEWT potions classes, but Albus Dumbledore himself had personally approved their admission.

They had arrived at the station courtesy of a pair of Ministry cars, which took them from the doorway of Diagon Alley. With Voldemort back, the Ministry had started caring about Harry's welfare again. The cars had arrived much later than expected, however, and Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and Ron had all been forced to run through the station, pushing carts laden with trunks and animal cages. Despite the rush, they made it inside by a comfortable margin. At least, they made it inside before Neville, which was close enough. Ginny and Harry ducked into the first compartment they found, but Ron and Hermione just dropped their trunks off, waving hello and goodbye to the other occupant, Luna Lovegood.

"We have to go forward again, Harry, but we'll try to come back once our meetings are done. Will you be alright?" Hermione sounded over concerned, at least in Ron's opinion.

Harry looked amused. "We'll be fine. Nothing's going to happen on the train, after all."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that." Luna's voice echoed through the compartment. "I've heard that at least one in ten hinkypink abductions occur on board trains."

Ron converted his laugh into a cough, and grabbing Hermione by the hand, pulled her away before she could get involved in the discussion.

"Hinkypinks! Honestly," Hermione snorted, "I know she helped out Harry last year, but sometimes I can't bear the woman."

"I know what you mean," Ron nodded, an exaggerated expression of innocence on his face. "It's hard to be around someone who thinks she knows more than you."

"Ron!" She punched him in the arm.

"What?" He looked injured. It wasn't his fault if she walked right into the occasional straight line.

"What's the matter, Weasley, can't defend yourself from your own girlfriend?" He heard Malfoy's sneer in his voice before he saw it on his face.

"Mind your own business, Malfoy," Ron responded wearily. His feelings of inadequacy came back in full force.

"Ow, that hurt, Weasley. Has anyone ever told you that you have a sharp wit? I thought not."

"Coming from someone who has most of his conversations with a pair of gorillas, that hurts, Malfoy. So, your father visit lately? I heard he dressed up like a Dementor to escape. I can't believe they didn't see he was too ugly to be a Dementor."

Hermione broke in. "Honestly! We need to get to the meeting."

"Mind your own business Mu -- mrph," Draco's voice cut off in mid-smear, as Hermione's casual wand waving took effect. His mouth had disappeared, and he seemed to be having trouble breathing through his nose. It was probably stuck too high up in the air to breathe effectively.

Ron and Hermione pivoted and walked proudly into the meeting.

~.~.~

Ron's expression when he returned to the compartment to meet with the others was no longer one of amusement. Hermione looked slightly worried behind him, and a little guilty.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"I don't want to talk about it." Ron gritted his teeth. They'd all find out eventually, but he didn't want to be the one to say it. They probably wouldn't hear everything, anyway.

There was silence for a few moments, and then Ginny asked. "So, have you heard who the new fifth-year prefects are? I mean, I obviously didn't make it in." Her smile didn't hint at how she felt about that. Ron knew he'd been almost disappointed when he'd been made prefect, but then, he was following in Percy's footsteps, which would have disappointed anyone. Following after Ron probably wouldn't have been such a bad thing -- at least, he didn't think so.

Hermione spoke up. "You'll never believe it. Colin Creevey and Auburn Albacore".

"You're kidding," Harry said, deadpan. "How can Colin be a prefect?"

"I think maybe Dumbledore felt sorry for him -- spending half his first year petrified and all." Ron interjected.

Ginny dropped her teacup, and Hermione kicked Ron. "I'm sorry Ginny, I didn't mean to talk about that."

"It's all right," Ginny said, eyes downcast, as she picked up her cup. Harry reached across to her, and put his hand on hers. Ron was amazed -- she didn't leap up into the air, or even blush. He wondered just how comfortable she'd become with Harry this summer.

Luna spoke into the silence. "Have any of you heard anything about who we'll have for Dark Arts this year?"

Harry looked up, snorting, and pulled his hand away from Ginny's. "Yeah, do you think this year we can avoid having someone who knows Voldemort personally?"

Everyone flinched at the mention of the self-proclaimed Dark Lord. "Sorry," Harry said apologetically.

"That's alright," Hermione responded. She made sure the door was firmly closed behind her. "We've already met the new Dark Arts teacher. That's what we didn't want to talk about."

"What happened?" Ginny looked concerned.

"Well, it started with Malfoy," Hermione started.

"Why am I not surprised?" Harry interrupted.

"Do you want to hear this or not, mate?" Ron snapped back at him. "Go ahead, Hermione, you might as well tell them."

She started over. "We'd just left Malfoy. I used a new curse on him, something I'd found in Anderson's Curses for the Weary, to shut him up. We went into the Prefect's meeting, and..." she hesitated.

"And the Dark Arts teacher was there." Ron finished. "She's a holy terror, she is. Called us out for using a curse on another student, especially with some foreign bloke on the train, told us we'd lose our badges if it happened again. I told her she could have mine, if she wanted it, for all the good it seemed to do. She gave me a month's detention."

"No!" Harry answered. "How about Hermione?"

Ron shrugged. "She seemed to have the impression that I'd cast the spell."

"Because he told her that he had," Hermione broke in. She sounded grateful to him, and Ron felt his heart melting.

"Who did you say was on the train?" Luna asked.

"The Dark Arts teacher?" Ron said. "Weren't you listening?"

"I heard that," Luna sounded unperturbed. "You said something about a foreign bloke. What did you mean?"

Hermione answered, which saved Ron from admitting that he'd forgotten about their guest from Bulgaria. "Oh, Professor Kwikspell said that there was someone from another country who was taking a tour of England, some kind of goodwill tour to build cooperation. She didn't say his name, though."

"The new Professor's name is Kwikspell?" Harry asked. "Like in the courses for Squibs?"

"Just like that," Ron confirmed. "She's probably some kind of relation."

Harry looked up at Hermione, as if expecting her to say more. Ron couldn't blame him, she usually did end up correcting him, but he still felt a little irked. Couldn't his friend just trust him?

Hermione didn't contradict him this time, and he was grateful. Instead, she just reminded everyone of the time. "Shouldn't we all be getting into our Hogwart's robes?"

Harry nodded, and the boys walked out to the hall to guard while the women changed inside. Ron decided that now was a good time to broach something he'd been waiting to ask Harry.

"Harry, what you said about fighting You Know Who."

"Voldemort," Harry snapped back.

"Yes, you know, him. What did you mean, exactly?"

"I'm going to kill him," Harry responded.

"Probably," Ron acknowledged. "I mean, I don't think it'll be Neville. Do you have some sort of plan in mind?"

"If I did, I don't think I'd talk about it in the corridor of the Hogwarts Express."

"Fair enough," Ron nodded. He had been worried that Harry already had something in mind, but it didn't sound that way. If he could keep him from trying to save the world single-handedly, they'd probably all live a lot longer.

The girls took much longer than Ron thought they should have, and he kept hearing giggling from inside the compartment, but he and Harry just spent the time talking Quidditch. Harry still favored Puddlemere, Ron still worshipped the Cannons. Talking about them made it hard to remember that a moment ago they had been talking about defeating the Dark Wizard that had terrified a nation.

~.~.~

The Sorting Hat's song made as little sense as ever. Ron just tuned it out. If he wanted to know if there was anything special in it, he would just ask Hermione later.

The students waiting to be sorted looked like every crowd had so far, except younger. The further Ron got from being eleven, the less he could believe that he had risked his life at that age to deny You Know Who his immortality.

He looked at their faces. Some held fear, some bravery. One looked familiar, though. The young boy was looking straight at Dumbledore, his face drawn, lips set. Looking at him gave Ron an uneasy feeling, as if he'd seen the boy before. Ron nudged Hermione, and whispered a question to her, but she didn't recognize him.

Names were being called now. The students seemed to be running almost even between the houses, although Ravenclaw was falling behind slightly. Ron cheered for each Gryffindor, but he was preoccupied. He knew that there was some reason that the boy's face bothered him.

Finally, his name was called, and Ron knew why he looked familiar.

"Lester Lestrange," the name rang out, and the boy tried on the Hat.

The Hat shouted - "HUFFLEPUFF!" - and he returned to his seat. Ron stole a look at Harry, and saw that the Boy Who Lived hadn't missed the name. Harry's hands were clenched, white with the effort, and his face betrayed something like hatred. Small wonder - if anyone outside You Know Who could be said to be responsible for his Godfather's death, it was the Lestranges.

Ron wondered what he was going to have to do to keep Harry out of trouble this year, if he was already looking ready to take on an eleven-year-old kid just for his relatives. He certainly wasn't going to remind Harry about his own, since as a pureblood wizard, there wasn't a dark wizard around that wasn't one of them.

Ron also wondered, not for the first time, if he was partly responsible for Harry's prejudices. He had been the one to point out Slytherin's association with dark wizards, back in their first year, and he had certainly turned up his nose at enough people from families that were associated with Voldemort. There were certainly enough times when those prejudices had been proven true. There were also people who had proven them false, however, including a number of people in the Order. Harry hadn't come to that realization yet, at least from the way he was looking at the first-year with a Death Eater's last name.


	3. Class in Session

Ronald Weasley and the Armor of Gryffindor

Chapter Three : Class In Session
    
    
    blithwapping:
    Using anything BUT a hammer to hammer a
    nail into the wall, such as shoes, lamp bases,
    doorstops, etc.
    -- "Sniglets", Rich Hall & Friends
    

Dumbledore's speech was almost the same as the year before, which amazed Ron. It sounded like trips to Hogsmeade would still be considered, and there was the promise of more Quidditch games. The Forest was still forbidden, and old Filch was still a stick in the mud, and, oh yes, it was important that everyone pull together to stop a homicidal maniac from killing them all.

Dumbledore's introduction of the new faculty was short, and not too surprising, since they'd already met the year's Dark Arts teacher on the train. Most of the other changes were in some of the elective courses; Firenze would be teaching the NEWT level Divination classes, which Ron and Harry had decided they could do without. New electives were being offered to NEWT level students, based on their career interests. A new teacher, Ding Lin, would be teaching medical courses, while curse breaking was going to be taught by Fleur Delacour, when she wasn't on duty at Gringott's.

Ron's eyes grew wide when Fleur's name was announced. That hadn't come up in the Hogwarts letter or the Prefect's meeting. He was pretty sure that he would have noticed it, even as distracted as he was by some of the other items in the letter. 

The thought of that -- this year's Hogwarts letter, and the news that it had held -- made his eyes mist over. He'd known that they would need a new Gryffindor Quidditch captain this year, but he had just assumed that it would be Harry. When he got the news that McGonagall had chosen him; well, he hadn't even felt able to tell anyone, because he couldn't believe that it would happen.

Ron could feel Hermione's eyes burning into him, and he realized that he was almost drooling. He turned to her to make conversation, but she folded her arms and ignored him, looking at the person on her other side. What had he done this time?

She ignored him on the way back to the dormitories, as they led the first year students there, and didn't say a word to him the rest of the night.

Ron waited for her in the common room the next morning, hoping to at least walk down to breakfast with her. Harry was sleeping through breakfast -- he hadn't slept well, as usual, and just asked them to make sure he was up for class and to save him a roll. When Lavender came down, and saw Ron there, she snickered. "Hermione's already gone, Weasley. Would you like to walk down with me?" She fluttered her eyelids, and Ron had to choke down a laugh. She was so transparent.

"No, that's okay," he said. "Do you know if Ginny's down yet?"

Lavender seemed annoyed at the question. "I don't know. I'm not in the same dormitory as her."

"I'm up!" Ginny called from upstairs. Ron wasn't sure how she'd heard him. She always had an uncanny knack to know when she was being discussed, probably a side effect of sharing a house with seven brothers.

He waited for her to run down the stairs. She looked around him. "Where's Harry?"

Ron hid his smirk. Apparently the Harry Potter Fan Club was alive and well. "He's not coming down for breakfast." Her face fell. "Would you like to come down with me?"

"Sure." A few beats later. "Where's Hermione?"

"Apparently she went down ahead of us."

"Ouch! What did you do this time?" Ginny's tone was playful, but it cut into Ron.

Normally he might have bantered back, but he hunched his shoulders forward, looking down. "I'm not sure. It must have been something awful, but I don't know what I did wrong."

"Oh, Ron. Do you want me to talk to her for you?"

Ginny hadn't offered before. Usually, Harry acted as go between. He was probably getting sick of it, though. He also wasn't the right person for this, Ron thought. "If you could. I'm sure I did something really dumb, but I can't think of what it was."

"Well, you're probably right. You probably did something dumb."

"Gee, thanks, Ginny. Could you find out why she's mad at me? I'd like to know if she'll be speaking to me by her birthday or not, so I can decide if I should get her something."

Ginny rolled her eyes at him. "Just get her something anyway. If she's not speaking to you, you can save it for Christmas."

Ron didn't answer. Now that he'd reached the Great Hall, he had more urgent things to worry about. He saw that Hermione was still at the table, and rushed to the empty seat next to her.

"'Morning, Hermione."

She mumbled something back to him, and stood up, walking off. Ginny took the newly vacated seat. "You must have really done it this time, Ron."

He shrugged, and picked at his food. He didn't seem to have much of an appetite this morning.

Ginny didn't seem to have his problem. She was shoveling breakfast down like there was no lunch. After a few moments, though, she slowed. "Ron, are you alright?"

He shrugged again, and kept picking at the food. "I suppose. Nothing much to say."

"So, have you heard anything more about when we'll start Quidditch practices?" Ginny asked. "I haven't even heard who the new captain is." She had an innocent look on her face.

Ron flushed. "It'll be tough, with my detentions, but maybe we can start on Saturday morning? I'll try to get the patch booked."

"Shouldn't the captain take care of that?"

Ron nodded. He hadn't meant to let the news out piecemeal, but figured he might as well tell Ginny. After all, he didn't know when he'd get Harry and Hermione in the same room together, awake and talking.

"I was trying to keep it a secret," he started, but Ginny interrupted.

"I wondered when you were going to get around to telling me."

"You knew!"

She nodded. "I saw your Hogwarts letter. Sorry, I thought it was mine. I haven't told anyone yet, though."

Some people were starting to look interested in the conversation. Ron didn't want word to get back to Hermione or Harry without him telling them. "Not another word about it right now -- we can talk later."

She seemed to want to say more, but he just gathered up his things and hurried over to Madame Hooch's office to book the Quidditch patch.

As it happened, the patch was already booked for most of Saturday. Ron grumbled. Malfoy had beaten him to it -- there wasn't a Slytherin meeting scheduled for a single evening, but he'd managed to get every moment from dawn to dusk on Saturday.

Swearing, Ron penciled his team in before Malfoy's. If he was going to have to step into the shoes of Oliver and Angelica, he might as well start it out right. Practice at four in the bloody morning was certainly on the right track.

Turning from the book, he almost ran straight into Professor Kwikspell. She had a saccharine sweet smile on her face. The Professor's hair was layered and colored in different shades, from gold to red, and flipped up on both sides. He wondered just how much time she had to spend on it each day, but decided that wasn't his concern. Her robes were a simple black, but they were accented by black leather boots and matching gloves, which made the massive necklace that she wore that much more obvious.

"Professor Kwikspell?" he stuttered.

"Yes, Mister Weasley. I'm happy you remember me." She seemed to be waiting for something.

"Umm, see you in class?"

"Certainly. Don't forget detention tonight." Her smile seemed to grow even wider. Ron noticed that she had teeth that Hermione would envy, gleaming white and perfectly regular. He also noticed her face. He had seen statues with more blemishes. Those features might have added up to making someone attractive, but on her, they just made her seem unreal. The predatory smile might also have had something to do with it.

"Of course, Professor. See you later." He edged around her, and walked off. He had a feeling like she was staring through him, as if he had her complete attention. It was spooky. He felt like her eyes were still following him even when he entered the Great Hall again, and he almost forgot to go wake Harry.

The day's classes started with, of all things, double Potions with the Slytherins. Snape's ghastly smile greeted his students back. "Welcome, class, to my Advanced Potions class. Those of you who managed to complete your OWLs to my satisfaction last semester will probably be able to make it through this semester without any unpleasantness. However, those of you who merely managed an acceptable mark should probably consider a different elective." Ron could feel  
Snape's gaze stop at him.

Ron wished he didn't have to take this course to be considered for Auror training. He couldn't see what good it was going to do him. It wasn't like he was likely to have time to brew anything in the field, so the excuse about needing to understand Antidotes just didn't seem realistic to him. He supposed it was just one of those things that schools did. At least Harry was here, for the same reason.

He didn't understand why Hermione was in the class. She hadn't said yet what she was going to do after Hogwarts, only that she wanted it to be something meaningful. Ron couldn't imagine taking Advanced Potions willingly. It was bad enough to take it while you had to, taking it when you could be doing something else didn't make any sense at all. He had thought that maybe she was just taking it to be near him and Harry, but she wasn't looking at either of them. Harry seemed oblivious to it, too involved in trying to work on today's difficult potion, but Ron couldn't keep from repeatedly glancing in her direction.

About half way through the lesson, the door opened. Snape grimaced, and interrupted the class' concentration by loudly clearing his throat. Ron barely got his dried newt powder in the caldron in time to prevent a disaster, and threw some into Harry's, as well, since his friend didn't seem likely to catch it in time.

"If I may have your attention, please, class," Snape spoke loudly, his nasal voice filling the room. "I would like you all to meet a special guest." The corners of his mouth moved up, and it might have looked like a smile if the rest of his face had followed suit. The rest of his face, though, kept the same dark, sour expression that, if it could be bottled, might be sold as Essence of Snape.

In through the open door walked a very large man. He wasn't tall, at least compared to Ron, but he was both well muscled and stout. He didn't smile, but that made his face look more genuine for it.

Professor Snape cleared his throat again. "It is my pleasure to introduce Mr. Valentin Vrag of Bulgaria, here on behalf of his Ministry to help with an exchange of teaching methods."

Valentin held up a hand. "Please, continue," he spoke, his deep baritone voice echoing in the hall behind him. "I am only here to observe."

Without another word, Snape turned back to the class and continued with the lesson. He seemed to be standing straighter, though, and speaking more clearly. Ron actually managed to make it through the whole class without losing any House Points, and Neville's customary caldron explosion only earned him a grimace.

Ron and Harry left the class feeling happier than they had in a long time, but Hermione pushed her way past them, brushing up against Ron's arm in the process. Ron reached out and tried to hold her arm, but she flinched away, and kept walking.

Harry looked at Ron in astonishment. "What did you do now, chum?"

Ron shrugged. "Beats me. I can't remember doing anything worse than I've done before, though."

"Well, she'll probably forgive you eventually," Harry said confidently. "She always has before."

"Lets just hope it doesn't take tackling a troll this time," Ron said glumly.

"Where to next?" Harry asked, pulling out his schedule.

Ron's mood didn't improve. "Dark Arts."

Harry didn't seem to share Ron's lack of enthusiasm. "Great!"

"Harry, remember what I said about meeting the Professor? Somehow, I don't think this will be as fun as you're hoping."

"Ron, we've just got out of the best Potions class ever. Don't spoil the day."

"Harry, we just got out of the best Potions class ever," Ron mimicked. "Can you honestly expect the rest of the day to go better?"

Harry just laughed, but he didn't talk more about how well he expected the class to go.

When they got to the class, Hermione had already taken up a seat next to Dean Thomas. It looked like Dean was trying to strike up a conversation, but not succeeding very well. Hermione's bushy hair made her look like a medusa, conveying anger that Ron really didn't want directed at him.

"Good morning, class!" Professor Kwikspell said with a cheerful emphasis. Ron felt a bit of deja vu, and he and the rest of the class belted out a response in sing-songy harmony, the legacy of classes with Dorothy Umbridge.

"Good morning, Professor!" 

He saw Kwikspell frown slightly, but she didn't respond directly. "Class, my understanding is that you have all spent the last year of Dark Arts mostly reading books. Is that correct?" 

The harmony repeated. "Yes, Professor." Her frown deepened.

"Well, then," she exhaled strongly. "I think we should start with something practical, if you feel that you can handle it." She looked highly dubious. "If you'll all turn to page 15 in your text, A Kwikspell Guide to Curse Protection, we'll be covering some basic protection charms today. We will work through the five protection charms listed there."

They all turned as one to the page referenced, and read silently. As they finished, each sat there, waiting.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Form up into pairs." She seemed to be getting upset. Apparently, she didn't have the same expectations that Dorothy Umbridge had.

They formed up, and Ron noticed with satisfaction that those that had been part of Dumbledore's Army last year weren't having any problems with either their curses or their protection spells. That wasn't many of them, though, and a number of the Gryffindors still hadn't caught up. The Slytherins seemed to be doing fairly well with their curses, if not their protection charms, but the practicing seemed to be doing everyone some good.

Everyone seemed to be loosening up. "Looks like we won't need to have private lessons this time, eh, mate?" Ron called over to Harry.

Professor Kwikspell had heard, and she walked brusquely over to him. "Private lessons?"

Ron knew that he wasn't supposed to admit that they had ever actually had those lessons, so he hedged his answer. "Well, last year, we spent the whole semester in Dark Arts just reading in our seats. No practical at all. So we talked about having private lessons, but nothing came of it. We couldn't get approval for them."

Professor Kwikspell nodded her head, as if he'd told her something important. "And, the students who couldn't have these private lessons, would they include yourself, Mister Potter, and Miss Granger?"

Ron nodded. "And a few others, but not all in Gryffindor."

"So, in mentioning those lessons, were you thinking that you could get permission this time?"

"No," Ron shook his head. "I was just saying how good it was to have a Professor that let us do something practical. No disrespect to the old bat, I mean Professor, that we had last year, of course."

Professor Kwikspell seemed amused, rather than offended by his slip. "Carry on, then."

Harry and Ron kept up their combat until it was time to go, and then they hurried to lunch. Ron wasn't surprised to see Hermione keeping her distance. He was glad that Harry was still hanging around with him, though.

Harry leaned in as they walked. "So, Ron, you think she's still ticked at you? Over the train, I mean? She seemed pretty nice in there."

It took Ron a moment to realize that he was talking about Professor Kwikspell rather than Hermione. He guessed he still had Hermione on the brain. "I don't know," he shrugged. "Didn't seem like it. She just seemed to be paying attention to me, and that's probably not a good thing."

Harry thought for a minute, and then nodded. "So, did you catch what Ginny's schedule was for today?"

Ron looked annoyed. "No, why would I? I'm not keeping track of her or anything."

Harry stared at his feet. "Well, I just thought you might know, since I missed her at breakfast."

Ron peered at him. "Why are you so curious about Ginny all of a sudden, anyway?"

Harry was still looking down. "No reason."

Ron yanked Harry's arm, pulling him to the side, out of the stream of students. He glared at a few that seemed interested in what they were up to, ignoring Harry's protests until they had passed them.

"What is your problem?" Harry asked.

"I just want to know what you want with Ginny."

Harry shrugged. "She's just a friend, that's all."

"Well, you're not acting like that's all there is. You're acting like..."

"Like what?"

"Like it's something else."

"Ron, bug off."

"I'm not going to bug off. Tell me what's going on between the two of you."

"Well, you tell me what's going on with you and Hermione."

"What are you talking about?"

"Always going off with her, studying with her. I never see either of you anymore."

"Where did that come from? I asked you a question."

"And I told you to bug off." Harry turned, taking the stairs two at a time. Ron just stared at him as he went. What had just happened?

By the time Ron got to the Hall, he'd lost track of Harry. He started walking back and forth along the long table, looking for his friend. He was so caught up in his search that he ran smack into a Hufflepuff. Terry Boot was in his year, although that was about all they had in common. Terry didn't seem offended for having fallen victim to Ron's distractedness, though. In fact, he looked almost pleased. "Weasley! I was hoping I'd run into you. Care to make a small wager about this year's Quidditch Cup?" Terry was talking in a normal voice, which was far too loud for Ron, on this subject, anyway.

"I think I'll have enough trouble without starting the year wagering," Ron replied. "We all know who'll win anyway, so there's no fun in it."

"You're saying you couldn't use a couple of extra Galleons?"

There was an intake of breath from the nearby Gryffindors. That was uncomfortably close to the kind of jab that never failed to get a rise out of him, and Ron could tell that everyone around him knew it. Only the feel of a bony, but strong, hand on his shoulder managed to keep him under control.

"Mister Boot," the nasal voice of the school Potions Master echoed from behind him. "If you will excuse us, I need to have a discussion with Mister Weasley. Oh, and ten points from Hufflepuff for gambling."

Terry stammered out a response, and backed away.

Ron turned. "Thanks, Professor Snape."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "No need for thanks, Mister Weasley. I did, indeed, have an errand that concerned you. If you will follow me?"

Ron nodded, nervous, and followed the Professor into a hallway, and into an empty classroom. "Mister Weasley, your father informed me of the content of your discussion with him. My understanding, based on the discussion, was that you were to be looking out for Mister Potter's safety. That you were, in fact, to ensure that he did not go off and do anything half-cocked. Would that be a fair understanding?"

Ron nodded his head. He was already wincing, to save time for what he knew would come next.

"So, can you explain to me exactly how you intend to do that, when you've managed to drive a wedge between the two of you on your first day back? Is this some kind of subtle Gryffindor plan that I should be aware of?"

Snape's sneer made it clear what he thought of the possibility of a Gryffindor planning anything.

Ron shook his head. "I wasn't thinking."

"That was abundantly clear!" Snape spat back at him. "Do you even know where Potter is right now?"

Ron turned white. Would Harry have been fool enough to do something stupid already? He shook his head, whispering, "No."

"Fortunately," came Albus' voice from the door, "I do. He is on his way to my office, at my request. I can take this from here, Professor Snape. I believe I overheard Mister Boot approaching some of the Slytherin Quidditch team about a wager. I'm sure that you would like to make your feelings on the matter known."

Snape seemed torn between tormenting Ron and catching Terry Boot again, but he didn't argue with the Headmaster. He swept from the room, his black robes trailing behind him. Whatever else he might say about the man, at least he had style.

"I'll be brief, Mister Weasley. Lemon drop?" The headmaster held out a sweet from his robe, but Ron shook his head. The headmaster continued, "I overheard the last of what the Professor had to say, and although it may surprise you, I must agree. There is a story that I heard once, from my brother Aberforth, which may come in handy. Would you like to hear it?"

Ron knew that the correct response was yes, although he could have done without one of Dumbledore's stories right now. He nodded, and the headmaster continued.

"You may perhaps have heard this one before. My apologies if that is so. I assume you are familiar with a Muggle tool called a hammer?"

Ron nodded his assent again. Hammers weren't exclusively Muggle tools, although Ron had been surprised to learn that Muggles had to use them by hand.

"Once, it seems, there was a Muggle in need of a hammer. This Muggle was noble and strong-minded, but he was forever being denied things that he needed. Tools, food, even broomsticks were always beyond his reach, until he began to think that no one would ever give him what he needed if he simply asked out of friendship."

"And so, now that he needed a hammer, he was stuck. He knew that there was a neighbor that had a hammer, but he was afraid that the neighbor would not agree. As he walked to his neighbor's cottage, he found himself arguing in his own head, thinking about all of the appeals that he might use. Finally, he reached the cottage. He knocked angrily on the door. When the neighbor opened, he spat angrily at him. Do you know what he said?"

Ron, who was having trouble staying awake for this, shook his head.

"His reply ## was simply this. 'I do not need your hammer, you may keep it.' Then, he returned to his own cottage. Are you sure you don't need a lemon drop?"

Ron shook his head. The Headmaster turned to go, and Ron called after him, against his better judgment. "Headmaster! What's the point?"

The Headmaster turned to give his response before leaving. "If you want a hammer, Ron, you must ask, and ask politely, no matter how much it may be against your nature. Otherwise, if you always believe you will be refused, you will be doomed to spend your days blithwapping alone."

Once he was alone, Ron stood bewildered. He shook his head. "Simply mental," he murmured to himself, before pulling out his schedule to look at what he had to worry about next.

It looked like the rest of the afternoon was mostly a free period for his year, which was a real blessing. He only had History of Magic in the late afternoon, just in time for a good afternoon nap before dinner and detention.

Ron felt a little at a loss without either the Professors or his friends to keep him on track. He walked back to the Hall, and got what he could of what was left of lunch. He was sitting alone, he saw. No one said much to him, probably worried that he'd still be riled up over Terry Boot's insults.

He stuffed himself, not really tasting the food, but neither of his friends had materialized, and neither had his sister. He felt incredibly alone, even though students surrounded him.

Ron walked over and checked the schedule at Madame Hooch's again, but the patch was already booked right now. No chance for some extra practice at the moment, even if it wasn't pointless for a Keeper to practice by himself. No help for it, then, he might as well just start studying. Ron walked down to the library and yanked out his books, and forced himself to start digesting the day's reading.

He actually lost himself in reading. It wasn't due to interest, just due to the fact that if he stopped, he'd remember that he was studying alone. He was interrupted from a soft voice behind him, which reminded him that he had class to look forward to. Lavender Brown's soft voice whispered almost in his ear. "Ron, are you coming down to History of Magic? Would you mind sitting together?"

He stood up, facing her. She was batting her eyelashes at him again.

Ron was torn. He was mainly amused at the idea of spending more time with Lavender. She wasn't unattractive, but anyone that looked up to Professor Trelawney was someone he'd forever have trouble respecting. He wasn't interested in being alone, though.

He nodded, trying to look enthusiastic. It seemed to be enough. She ran up, grabbing hold of his arm, and chattering excitedly while he loaded his bag for class.

Harry and Hermione were sitting at opposite sides of the room. He supposed that Hermione had probably assumed that Harry was on his side. Ron hoped that Ginny talked to Hermione before Harry got to either of them and got her mad at him too.

Lavender seemed oblivious about the apparent rift between the trio, blindly accepting her luck at sitting next to Ron. She wrote cute little notes all through History of Magic, full of smiley-faces and exclamation points.

Ron couldn't figure out what he was supposed to do at this point. He kept thinking about the Headmaster's advice, trying to figure out if it meant anything. Hermione could probably explain it to him, if she didn't bite his head off first. Ron walked into dinner with Lavender still chatting to him. She didn't seem to care that he wasn't saying much back, or that he kept looking at Hermione and Harry. 

Ron wondered why she was so alone right now. Pavarti wasn't paying any attention to Lavender, which wasn't normal. The two were normally thick as thieves, especially during meals, but they were sitting opposite each other. At some point, he wondered if he should ask her about it, but another bony hand interrupted him. "Come, Mr. Weasley, I believe it is time for your detention."

Ron hastily said his good-bye to Lavender. She looked shaken by his sudden departure, and somehow very alone. He felt awful for the way it seemed to make her feel. He asked quickly, against his better judgment, "Breakfast tomorrow?"

She nodded, and he ran after Professor Kwikspell. She said nothing to him until they reached her office, and then gave him only very terse instructions before moving on. He was to work through the books that she'd brought with her - the complete Kwikspell catalogue - finding every mention of dark magic, defense, and useful charms, especially those already addressed in the Hogwarts curriculum. He offered to polish caldrons or awards instead, but Professor Kwikspell only shook her head and left him alone to finish his work.

He was totally alone again, and he wondered if that would be the norm this year.

~.~.~

Ron was exhausted by the time he was done with his detention. He never knew that Kwikspell had so many different helpful guides for learning magic, and he had never really wanted to know, either. Cross-referencing wasn't his forte - that was one of the many things that Hermione did better than him.

Thinking of Hermione... he seemed to be doing that a lot recently. He hoped he'd have a chance to actually talk to her soon. He really didn't want her to hear about him being captain from someone else -- she'd think it meant something, and he really didn't want that.

He mumbled the password to the Fat Lady, and stumbled into the common room. He saw her there, sitting on a couch by the fire. She was talking in a low voice to Ginny, who seemed to be mostly listening. Ron tried to come up with a speech, but he was too tired. He decided to try something novel -- he'd just tell her what was on his mind. Ron tried to remember he was a Gryffindor, and walked straight for them.

Ginny saw him first. "Ron, I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow, okay?"

Ron nodded. "Alright, if you have to go to bed, I understand. Could we talk, Hermione?"

She looked taken aback by his approach, but still looked mad. "Actually, I should be going, too. I've got loads of work to do." She stood up and started to walk past him.

Ron stood in her way. "Me, too. I just got back from detention, so I haven't had a chance to start, yet. I just wanted to tell you something. It's not really important, but I figured if you heard it from someone else, you'd think I hadn't told you on purpose."

"Is it about Fleur?"

"Fleur? What does she have to do with anything?" Ron sputtered. "No, it's not that. It's just that McGonagall named me Quidditch Captain."

"She did!" Hermione sounded almost as surprised as she had when he was made Prefect. "That's wonderful." She didn't move any closer to him, though.

"Well, I'm sorry to hold you up. I'm sure you've got loads to do. Don't tell Harry, will you? I hadn't gotten a chance to tell him yet."

"You didn't tell him?" Now, Hermione looked less angry. There was something soft in her eyes. "Why did you tell me first?"

Ron shrugged. "Not sure. He's not speaking to me either right now, but I figured you'd take it worse if I didn't tell you. Well, good night then." He turned around and headed towards bed, leaving her almost dumbfounded.

------------------------------- 

A/N: Thanks as always to my beta reader, Kianna

Updated to fix HTML bug - Apologies for the missing pre tag.


	4. Quidditch, Eventually

Ronald Weasley and the Armor of Gryffindor

**Chapter Four : Quidditch, Eventually**
    
    
    "Serious sport has nothing to do with fair play.
    It is bound up with hatred, jealousy, boastfulness,
    disregard of all rules, and sadistic pleasure in
    witnessing violence: in other words it is war minus
    the shooting."
    -- George Orwell
    

Hermione was waiting for Ron the next morning when he came down. Harry had already gone down ahead with Ginny; Hermione seemed mystified that he'd managed to hack of Harry already. He wondered if he should wait for Lavender to come down, but Hermione said she was still showering. He hesitated, "Hermione, I'd said I'd go down with Lavender."

She flushed, "Well, of course, I wouldn't want to get in the way. If you would rather be with her..."

Ron shook his head. "I'm sure I'll see her down there. Besides, I've got to catch up with Harry. He needs to know about the first Quidditch practice, and try-outs. I'll have to catch up with her later."

She seemed mollified, and started to walk down. He followed her quickly, not wanting to risk raising her ire again.

Ron saw Harry and Ginny sitting together. He was sure that something was up now, and fairly sure that they'd rather he not say anything about it. Well, he'd already driven Harry far enough away; he could afford to eat breakfast without fighting any more battles right now.

He walked over to them, leaning between their heads, which were fairly close together.

"What do you want," Harry snapped.

"I just wanted to tell you that we're having Quidditch practice at 4am on Saturday."

"Four in the morning? Did they bring back Oliver?"

"No, worse. I'm afraid they've made me Captain."

"What?"

"You heard me. And since Malfoy's spread the word, they've booked all the time for the patch that I'm not in detention, at least for the next few weeks."

"That git," Ginny said. "I'm glad you finally told Harry."

"You knew?" Harry looked at her accusingly.

"Yes," Ginny admitted. "I didn't think it would take him this long to tell you about it, though. Forgive me for keeping it from you?"

"Of course," Harry said, looking deep into her eyes.

Ron felt like he needed to retch. "Well, whatever. Have a good day, I'm going to go get breakfast."

"Wait!" Ginny said, "There's something I need to give you. Even if you are an idiot." She reached into her bag, and pulled out a book. "Here. Charlie recommended this for you. Consider it an early Christmas present."

Ron looked down at the book. His first impulse was to worry that Ginny was taking lessons from Hermione, giving books for presents. As long as she didn't take direction from Fred and George, though, he was probably better off not teasing her over it.

The book was bound in wood, he noticed, a deep, vibrant, cherry, tied together with what liked like flexible straw. It was titled, "Keeping for Keeps", its title etched right into the wood.

Ginny waited until he'd taken that much in before speaking again. "Keep it hidden, will you? You're not supposed to have it."

"What?" Given Ginny's history with books, Ron was alarmed.

"Well, some of the tricks in there aren't exactly approved by the English Ministry. They're a little...forceful. Just keep it under wraps, okay?"

Ron nodded, wondering how much trouble a book could get him into, but he stuffed it into his bag anyway. He hoped that he would have time later to delve into it and figure out what was so special.

Thanking Ginny once again, he hurried over to where Hermione was sitting. It seemed like Harry was probably talking to him again, and Hermione seemed to have forgiven him for whatever he had done wrong this time. He wasn't going to bring it up, although he guessed it had something to do with Fleur, since she'd brought her up last night. Since Ron's brother Bill was still involved with Fleur, though, he wasn't sure what her problem had been.

Just as he sat down next to Hermione, he saw Lavender come in. She slowed to a stop when she saw him, and her face lost all its color. She turned, and ran back the way she came.

Ron couldn't believe that it was just him standing her up for breakfast that made her react so poorly. There must have been something else wrong; after all, what was so special about him that anyone would react so strongly? He was good at making Hermione run away angry, but he'd never thought he could extend that to anyone else, nor had he particularly wanted to. His vision lingered on the door for a few more seconds, before Hermione pulled him back to reality, asking him about his new homework assignments. He had shortly forgotten about Lavender entirely, as he and Hermione chatted happily about their assignments.

Ron didn't get a chance until that afternoon to pull out his new book, reading it instead of napping during History of Magic. Flipping it open, he saw that it included tons of exercises to get better at Quidditch. It wasn't limited to Keeping, although that was the focus -- there were also sections on Beating, Chasing, and Seeking. The exercises that it suggested looked like they would take several hours a day, and require the active help of someone else, if only so that they could call for help if a Bludger got him.

Ron could see why the exercises might be unpopular with officials; some of the Beating moves that were covered were designed to do permanent damage to the unfortunate target, while some of the Seeking exercises sought to teach using wandless magic to Disillusion the Snitch. Not all of them were so extreme, though, and he thought he could probably learn a bit from the book. 

He was still reading the book when class ended and students started to filter out. He sighed, closing it, shoving it into his pack, and stood abruptly, colliding with Lavender. She dropped her books, sniffling. Her eyes looked red and irritated.

"Are you alright," he asked, as he bent down to help her pick up the books. She snatched them from her, and ran off, crying audibly.

"What's her problem?" Ron asked loudly, although he didn't really expect a response.

He got one anyway, from Hermione. "Are you entirely blind?" she asked.

He turned to her, and wasn't able to choke back his response. "Apparently so, Hermione. Would you like to tell me what's so completely, blindingly obvious that I can't see it?"

She snorted, and charged out of the room. Wonderful, he'd managed to keep on her good side for a record eight hours. At least Harry was still speaking to him. He looked around for him, and didn't see Harry anywhere; apparently he'd already filtered out of the class.

Ron hurried on his way from the class, trying to catch up with him. He hoped he wouldn't have to eat dinner alone. Harry was nowhere to be found, however. He went down to dinner anyway, and looked at the table. Hermione was eating with Colin and Neville, with no empty chairs near her. Harry wasn't here. Neither was Ginny. Lavender had a blank seat next to her, though. In fact, she had several blank seats near her -- she was sitting at the end of the table. Ron thought about it for a moment, and then decided to try to sit down next to her.

She didn't even notice him at first. He quietly put food on his plate, and started eating. After a few moments, her sniffles quieted down, and she looked up at him. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged. "You looked like you were alone. I thought you might not mind some company."

She looked suddenly hopeful, and Ron realized that she really had taken his absence in the morning seriously. He hadn't expected that Lavender would react towards him that way...he had trouble believing that anyone would.

She started talking again, and Ron listened, or at least put on as excellent a show of listening as he ever had. When the time came for him to go to detention, he was almost sorry to leave; he hoped that she wouldn't be irked at his going. He preferred leaving on his own terms to Professor Kwikspell's reminder, though, so he finally stood up. "I'm sorry, I've got to get to detention. Will you be alright now?"

She nodded, "Yes...thanks for coming over. I really enjoyed talking with you."

"Me, too," he said. "I don't know how tomorrow's going to go yet, but I hope we'll run into each other." She laughed, and he remembered class. "Well, you know what I mean."

She giggled, and it didn't sound half-bad. Ron left, walking straight towards Professor Kwikspell, who was already on her way to find him. She looked pleased to see him, but she didn't say anything as she turned and marched towards her office, with him following.

She gestured towards a seat by her desk, and then pulled a pile of scrolls of the floors. "These are the galleys for some books that may be published by Kwikspell. You are to go through them and do a first pass at copy-editing them."

She pulled a book off of her desk, and flipped through it. "Here are the symbols you are to use to mark the errors." The page that she pointed at was covered with strange rune-like marks.

Ron looked up at her. "Shouldn't this be done by a professional?"

She smirked, "It seems somehow appropriate to have you work on these, Mister Weasley." She emphasized his last name. "Don't worry, a real editor will look at them when you're done. Do what you can before 11, and then return to your dormitory. I'll trust you to let yourself out."

Ron watched as she walked off. He couldn't figure her out. That seemed to be a mantra of his right now -- figuring any woman out was beyond him.

He picked up the first scroll, and opened it. The title jumped out at him, "How to Avoid Death Eaters, or How Not to Look Like a Muggle." If not exactly enchanting, at least it looked time consuming.

Ron had tremendous trouble staying awake, but managed to work through it. He knew that he would never make Auror if he couldn't get his Dark Arts Professor on his good side. 

As Ron was leaving, he heard voices down the corridor. He had no choice but to go that way, but he was leary of running into anyone who was in the corridors at this time of night. As he approached, he started to be able to make out some of the words.

"Terry," a young woman's voice was saying, "We need to get back to our dormitories."

"I know, I know," Terry Boot responded, exasperated, "but we should try to get in at least some practice tonight."

"But Terry," she whinged, "What if we get caught?"

"We'll make something up," he said. His voice was echoing differently now. Ron risked peeking around a corner, and saw them entering an unused classroom. He wondered what they were up to, and it occurred to him that it would be simple enough for him to find out. He was a prefect, after all, and he wasn't officially out of bounds right now.

He crept towards the room, but the door was shut now. He started to reach out for it, and then froze. Whatever Terry was up to, he doubted it had anything to do with the Dark Lord or his minions. Ron himself had scarcely been a model of following rules, and he didn't feel that he had much room to criticize anyone else. He knew that he was a Prefect, but it seemed petty to him to be going after students for what sounded like something harmless. Even if it was Terry.

Ron withdrew his hand, and started walking softly back to his dormitory. He gave the password with a grimace, "Orange Crush". It was something that Finnegan had come up with, he'd heard, based on something Muggles drank. The Fat Lady woke from her snoozing just enough to motion him in, and he made his way swiftly up to his bed. He waved to a few Gryffindors in the common room on the way, but he didn't see Hermione or Harry there.

Harry's curtains were already drawn when Ron got up to the dormitory room. Ron yanked his boots off, changed into a dressing gown, and was soon sound asleep.

The rest of the week passed smoothly, if not swiftly. Hermione didn't talk with him, but he heard through Harry that she'd said she might come to Quidditch Practice on Saturday morning. He hoped that she would give him a chance to smooth things over. He spent some time with Lavender, but tried not to make it every meal. He felt uncomfortably like he was her only friend, and he wasn't sure if he really considered her as one of his friends, or just someone he could eat a meal with. There was something missing, probably the difference between someone he had giggled with and someone who he had faced death with.

When Saturday morning came, Ron was feeling nervous. This would be his first practice session as captain, and he didn't want to mess it up. When he came downstairs, he was surprised to see Hermione sitting there. She looked groggy, her hair more mussed than usual. She was bleary-eyed, and her complexion looked a little ghastly. He realized just how much he'd missed her.

"Are you coming down?" Ron asked, and cursed himself for not saying something more conciliatory.

"Why? Don't you want me to?" Her tone was biting.

"I'd love for you to come," he answered, trying to sound nice. "I'm just surprised you're coming, that's all. I mean, it seems like you've spent the whole week mad at me."

"I'm not sure why I'm coming, either," she said crossly. "I suppose I thought Harry should have someone cheering for him. Other than Ginny, I mean."

Ron flushed. Apparently, the fact that she wasn't completely over her crush hadn't escaped Hermione either. That wasn't a big surprise, though. She was good at noticing things like that. "Well, I should probably head down there. Harry wasn't in his bed, so he must have beat me to the pitch. I don't suppose you'd walk with me?" He asked hopefully.

"If you'd like," she said, still not looking happy with him.

They walked down the stairs in silence. "Umm, did you see anyone else from the team?" Ron asked.

"Everyone but Harry and Ginny," Hermione answered.

The silence was uncomfortable. Ron yawned, and realized he was stretching out the yawn to fill the void. This was ridiculous. How could they be best friends if they spent a week not talking?

"Hermione," he started.

"Yes?" Hermione sounded unhappy.

Ron cringed inside. Whatever he said next would probably backfire. He almost couldn't see a reason to say anything more.

She stopped, hands on her hips. "What, Ron? What is it?" Well, he was stuck. She probably wouldn't let him get away without saying anything, now that he'd broken the silence.

"I...I just wondered if you'd take pity on me and tell me what I did, so I wouldn't do it again. Maybe it's my fault, but I just can't understand how you girls can just decide to hate someone and not let them know why." Ron realized he'd gone too far.

Hermione looked away from him. Her voice was cracking from exhaustion. Being up at four in the morning was putting a stress on her, too. "There are some things that shouldn't be said," she expressed, "because they're impossible to take back. Besides, you're late for practice."

Ron thought about this for a moment. He knew that the Quidditch team was probably waiting for him; then he scratched that thought. Harry and Ginny were there, they were probably fine. "Well, Ginny's probably running everything without me anyway. If you don't want to tell me, I won't make you, but I'll take the time to listen."

She looked back in him, and the look in her eyes almost killed him. It was a look of disbelief, as if he'd said something that shocked her. Was it really that rare that he said something kind or sensitive? He blushed -- maybe it was. 

Ron reached out his hand to her, palm up, and she took his arm like it was a lifeline, not just holding his hand, but clasping his whole arm. He chalked it up to her exhaustion, but figured maybe he had finally done something right.

"Let's just get down to practice," she said. Ron nodded, and they walked down together.

As he'd expected, Ginny and Harry had already started practice. They were both chasing the Snitch, with the other players taking turns chasing and keeping. No one had released the Bludgers, which was probably for the best, given everyone's exhaustion.

He stood at the foot of the patch watching them for a few minutes, his arm still captive to Hermione. It looked like Harry and Ginny were still in good flying form, which he expected, given how much they practiced over the summer.

"Bloody amazing, aren't they," a course voice came from behind Ron. Behind, and several feet up. He jumped, and Hermione let go of his arm suddenly, moving to the side.

Ron turned around, "Hagrid, you could have given me a heart attack."

"I've got sump'in for that, you know. Just a smidgen of Skrewt venom will get the heart going right away. I knew they'd do sump'in useful, if they just got a chance," Hagrid was beaming.

Hermione moved in to give Hagrid a big hug. Ron was jealous; his arm felt like it was missing something. Harry and Ginny came to a landing next to them, showing that they hadn't been totally oblivious to everything but the Snitch.

"Hagrid!" Harry shouted, and he, too, threw his arms around him. Ron stood back. He was glad to see Hagrid, but he wasn't really into hugging large men in public.

Hagrid's clothes looked a little haggard, and his face was worn. Hermione seemed to pick up on it first. "Are you alright, Hagrid? You look like you've been through a lot."

He shifted from one foot to the other, looking down uncomfortably. "Well, I don't know as I ought to bother you with anything. It ain't much, really."

"It isn't about, well, you know who, is it Hagrid?" Harry asked softly.

"Now what would he be doing in our forest," Hagrid demanded. "Did you hear something from Albus? I thought he was keeping to the cities, he was, afraid to come by the school."

Harry looked confused. "No, I don't mean Voldemort." Ron, Ginny, Hagrid, and the airborne team members all winced in tandem. "I mean, well, you know who, not You-Know-Who, if you know what I mean."

Hagrid looked really confused. Ron didn't blame him; it was far too early in the morning for word games with the gentle giant. "I can't say as I understand what you mean, Harry, but the forest is nothing for you to be concerned about."

"I mean," Harry whispered, "Is it your brother again?"

Hagrid chuckled, "No, he's fine. It's sump'tin else. Aragog, well, I reckon she's just finally passed away, and her children are getting a little out of hand. Nothing I can't handle, and if they give a few centaurs some trouble, that's just what they get for not respecting them that they should."

"Well, that's alright then," Ron replied. "I can't see them getting anything that they don't deserve, either of them. Those spiders are just awful."

"Well, to each their own," Hagrid replied, "For my part, I'd rather them than the centaurs. At least they don't pretend to be better than us."

The sun finally started to appear on the horizon, and Ron realized that if he was to get in any practice, he would have to start soon. "Hagrid, it's great seeing you, but would you mind if I got into the air?"

"No, that's alright. Can I talk with Harry for a minute, though?"

"Sure," Ron said magnanimously. "I'll need Ginny, but you can have Harry."

Ginny looked at him contemptuously, but rose into the sky on her broom anyway. Ron jumped his broom, and looked at Hermione. "I'll be back down soon. Will you sit with me at breakfast?"

She nodded, looking almost bashful, and waved once as he get into the air.

Quidditch practice was wonderful. The feeling of air rushing through his hair, the confidence he'd earned in blocking the Quaffle, and most importantly, the feeling that there were rules up here. He wished that there was a rule book for people, especially for women. He might stand a chance that way.

Ron looked over towards the stands, and frowned. He saw someone else there. They seemed to notice his attention, standing and running away as soon as he glanced in their direction. He started to dive towards the stands, but didn't get there in time to see more than the person's retreating back. In the early morning light, it looked like she had light hair, but he wasn't certain. He was at a loss as to who might be watching them at this time -- he couldn't think of any woman that would be willing to come out here and watch at this time of morning, other than Hermione, of course. But then, he thought, he didn't have that rulebook for women.

Maybe he would ask Hermione. Or maybe not -- she might think that he should already know. He scratched his head. He was beginning to see what Dumbledore had meant, he thought. If you spent all your time wondering about the way other people would react, you'd never get a chance to actually do anything.

The Quaffle whizzed by his head, and he cursed, flying back into action. When practice was over, he'd have to start worrying about the rest of the term. He'd have to make sure that Harry wasn't ready to go off half-cocked. He'd have to figure out if he should talk to Hermione or not. He might even have to think about what Hagrid had said. All of those things, he'd have to face. For now, though, he would just fly. The rest, the rules that he couldn't understand, they'd just have to wait.


	5. The History of the Founders

**Chapter Five : History of The Founders**

"See, this is a school, and we have students, and they check out books, and then they learn things." "I was beginning to suspect that was a myth." -- Buffy the Vampire Slayer 

Ron's habit of reading his Quidditch book during the History of Magic had produced an unexpected side effect; he was no longer accustomed to falling asleep during class. He even occasionally took notes, although they generally shared the scroll with Quidditch play diagrams, Christmas lists, and ideas for how to make things up to Hermione.

While students in their sixth year could opt not to take History of Magic, Ron had ended up agreeing to take it anyway. Ron had decided that he could imagine no greater future than being an Auror, assuming he couldn't become a professional Quidditch player. That, in turn, required that he continue taking most of the classes he was already in. 

At least, they were finally up to a time period that he found interesting. They were talking about the eighteen-hundreds, when the Dark Wizard Kartoffel had almost single-handedly wiped out Ireland. Somehow, the discussions of Kartoffel's misdeeds brought home the fact that today's war was one of many. While Ron had often heard stories of the First Voldemort War, which had ended near his birth, he had never identified with all of the previous wars. The First Voldemort War somehow seemed too recent to be real, and as he knew only survivors, the vast number of people who had died weren't completely real to him. Somehow, the pictures of the distant past were more impressive, all the more so as he had never heard of Kartoffel before class started. Would he be forgotten, years from now, when Voldemort was relegated to another History of Magic teacher? Would even Binns remember him?

When class ended, Ron stood abruptly, and left, not even bothering to wake Harry. He noticed that Hermione was staring at him, but he didn't stop to ask why. If he asked Hermione why she was looking at him funny every time she did it, he'd probably drive her mad.

He walked down to the Quidditch Patch. It wasn't officially open for practice right now, since it was dinnertime. Ron figured he could just slip down to the kitchen for dinner later - right now, he needed to blow of some steam. Ron opened up his book, and started looking for some promising exercises. His eyes lighted on the ones for Beaters, which seemed promising. At least, they looked like he'd end up either working out his anger or being shipped off to the hospital ward.

He got the practice Bludgers out of their hiding spot, and pulled out one of the Beater Bats. The exercise seemed to be a combination of martial arts and wandless magic training, using his power to guide the Bat to block the incoming obstacle faster than his reflexes would normally allow.

After the first few minutes, Ron wondered if he should have heeded the book's warning, and had someone else there to carry him off. The exercises were doing very little to actually block the Bludger, and although it was only at practice strength, it had succeeded in scoring quite a few hits on him. He kept trying, though, determined that if he couldn't defeat Voldemort, he could at least defeat a little mindless ball.

After the next few minutes, he was about ready to concede to the little mindless ball. "Bloody beast, OW, will you just, OW, stay still, OW!" The Bludger knocked him to the ground, and seemed to be turning around to finish him off, when a tiny gloved hand reached out and caught it, holding it still.

Ron looked up from the ground, and saw that the hand belonged to the new Medical Studies teacher, Professor Ding. Ginny had signed up for Professor Ding's classes, and she'd said that the small Oriental woman was one of her favorite teachers yet, second only to Lupin. Ron hadn't had time for another elective, though, and this was the first time he'd seen her up close. She looked young for a Professor, probably in her early thirties. Her hair was short and black, with small tinges of white throughout. She was shorter than Harry, and of slight build. She had a slight accent, very faint.

She was still holding the Bludger with one hand as all this went through Ron's head, and she carefully extended her other hand downwards. "Mister Weasley, would you like some help?"

Ron accepted the hand gratefully, and stood. He was amazed at how calm her face was, the ball still in her hand. "Thanks, Professor. Do you mind if I ask how you're doing that?"

She responded placidly, without any sign of sarcasm, "How would you expect me to be doing this?"

He bit back a nasty retort, realizing that he didn't need to irritate any more Professors right now, nor did he have any more time for detentions. He tried to control his voice, "Beats me, Professor."

"My arm is obeys my head, and, despite its wish to do otherwise, the Beater obeys my arm. It is not so different from what you are learning." Ding gestured at the open book beside him.

"Professor, I'm not really learning anything," he said, and he realized, belatedly, that he wasn't supposed to be reading the book at all.

"Nonsense," the woman said. "If nothing else, you are learning the price of failure."

"That one, I already knew," he answered back ruefully.

"Well, then, you're already off to a good start," she countered. "Show me what you are trying to accomplish."

Ron obediently stood up and started to weave his bat.

She looked at him critically, still holding the Bludger. "You have the footwork well at hand, but you are following the pattern too intently. This is not a dance, Mister Weasley."

"Then what should I be doing?" he snapped back.

She didn't seem perturbed by his venom. "Here, let's try something different." She removed her belt with one hand, tossing it to him. It was a silky green sash.

Ron looked at in disbelief. "What do you want me to do with this?" 

"Tie it over your eyes."

"You're kidding, right?"

"No. You'd best hurry. Your detention with Professor Kwikspell begins soon, and I doubt that you would like to explain what you were doing."

Ron had forgotten about his detention entirely. He was surprised that she knew about it. Thinking about it, he was surprised that she had even known who he was. They'd never met before, and she hadn't had years of Weasleys ahead of him to prepare her. He decided to have a little faith in her, since she had probably been talking to Albus, and he tied her belt over his eyes.

She commanded, "Now, stop trying to follow the pattern, and stop the Bludger."

He moved the bat, and the Bludger hit him in the nose. "OW!"

"Keep trying," she commanded, and he started moving the bat again. He felt it connect with a loud crack. A few minutes later, she let him remove the blindfold. He had hit the Bludger ten times, and it had only gotten him five.

"Now, return this to where it belongs," she said, giving him the Bludger back, as he passed the belt back to her. "And don't forget about your detention." She started to walk off.

Ron nodded, and closed his book, putting it in his bag. He called towards her back, "Dank you, Professor." His nose really hurt.

She turned. "It was my pleasure, Mister Weasley."

He had a few questions for her, but he was afraid that most of them would sound like challenges. So he asked the most innocuous one he could. "Where did you learn how to deach like dat?"

She smiled, "I saw it in a movie once." Her smile grew larger at Ron's look of disbelief. "It could have been worse. I could have made you paint a fence. Have a good evening." She turned, and walked away. This time, he let her go. He ran by Madam Pomfrey's on the way to detention, and was almost late because of it, but his nose was much better for the attention.

Ron went out to the Quidditch pitch again the next day before dinner. Not seeing anyone, he decided to try practicing with the Bludger again, although he figured he might try with his eyes open. This time, he seemed to be doing a little better. He was hitting it three times for every time it hit him, and he usually managed to have it get him in the arm, rather than the face.

It flew behind him, and he half turned, waiting to hit it as it came back, but he was surprised to see Ding there, holding the Bludger in one hand. "Where did you come from, Professor?"

"Originally, China. Sichuan province."

"That's not quite what I meant," he said, but he didn't have any venom in it. It was hard to get angry at someone so good at sounding inscrutable, at least when he was managing to control the Bludger.

"It's part of what my father would have called the Way, it covers everything from fighting to sneaking up behind students." Ron looked blank, and she continued.

"What you're learning now, what you're trying to do, you're trying to find the Way by following one pattern. It's like trying to learn to dance by learning the notes to one song."

"If this is anything like dancing, I might as well give up now."

She didn't answer him, and he didn't give up. It became a ritual for him to go down to the Pitch right before dinner. Professor Ding didn't come down every day, but she did come down occasionally, usually just when Ron was starting to get stuck.

Before Ron knew it, his detentions were over, and he could start team Quidditch practices in earnest. Their first game of the season was against Ravenclaw, and Ron knew that if they couldn't defeat them decisively, they wouldn't have a chance against Slytherin later.

Ron wasn't quite the slave driver that Oliver had been, but that was mainly because he lacked the time. Even when his detentions with Professor Kwikspell were over, he still had the coursework of a prospective Auror to deal with. And then there was keeping up with Harry.

The Hogwarts Three had definitely become the Hogwarts Four. Ginny was spending more time with Harry than Ron was, and Ron wasn't sure how he felt about that. He knew he couldn't afford to get in a fight with Harry again right now, though. When he saw them standing too close, he just gritted his teeth, and tried to find a way to divert Harry's attention. This was proving to be very time consuming, but he knew it was worth it - he couldn't very well just strangle him, after all. Although there were times he was severely tempted.

One night in October, Ron was entering the common room from his dormitory looking for Harry, and he noticed that one of the couches had its back turned towards him, with strange sucking noises coming from it. He walked up to it carefully, and looking over the edge, saw that Harry and Ginny were joined at the lips. He tried not to notice that their hands were on their way to some compromising places.

"Harry!" Ron shouted. Both of the teens jumped. Ron was relieved that Harry looked more guilty than angry. The same couldn't be said of his sister, however. She looked at him with murder in her eyes.

"Ron, mind your own business," Ginny snapped at him, and she tried to pull Harry back down to the couch.

"This is my business," he said coldly. "I'm happy that you and Harry are such good...friends. But you can't act like this in the middle of the common room. What would Mum say?"

"Beautiful, Ron, that was a perfect impression of Percy. I'm sure you'll be a Big Head Boy like him in no time," she retorted. Ginny was spitting mad. Ron was offended by her comparison, but right now he was more afraid of the Bat Bogeys he saw in his future.

Harry, strangely enough, acted as the voice of reason. "You're right, Ron. We went too far."

Ron was relieved that Harry didn't seem angry with him, but Ginny looked like she might cry at his words. Harry turned so that Ron couldn't see his face, looking straight at her. Whatever she saw in his face, her smile soon came back. She grinned at Ron evilly. "You're so right, Perfect Prefect that you are. You won't catch us here again. Good night, Ron. See you later, Harry."

She through her head back, tossing her hair, and walked swiftly up the stairs. Harry was staring at her as she went, smiling. He called after her, "Good Night!"

Ron wasn't sure what he had missed, but his stomach did a flip-flop, his relief quickly vanishing. Whatever they were up to, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. He was just glad that he'd managed to confront them without losing his friendship with Harry.

At breakfast the next morning, Ginny was still smirking, and so was Harry. They spent the whole meal looking in each other's eyes. Ron was spending it looking at both of them. He was convinced that they were plotting something.

He took more than half the meal to notice the eyes that were focused on him. He turned to Hermione, who was across the table from him. "What?" he demanded.

"Nothing," she said, blushing scarlet. "Nothing at all. I just wondered why you hadn't said anything this morning."

Ron shrugged. "Nothing important," he said. "How are you doing?"

She looked down. "I've been better."

He reached his hand across the table towards her. "What's wrong?"

Hermione shook her head, "It's nothing. At least, nothing important."

Harry and Ginny both got up from the table, waving goodbye. Harry didn't have class this early, Ron knew, but Ginny did. Ron decided that Harry could probably walk her towards class safely, since there were more than enough other Prefects and Professors to stop any wayward snogging in the halls.

Ron reached his hand across the table for Hermione's. She took it in hand gratefully. "If it's enough to bring you down, it's important. What's wrong?"

She smiled, and Ron felt his heart flutter. How could she always do this to him? "I suppose I've just felt a little lonely, lately."

Ron was surprised, but he bit his tongue before replying. Thinking about it, he realized that he hadn't spent much time with Hermione in the last few weeks, between Quidditch, Harry, and schoolwork. They sometimes studied together, but she was usually too involved with her texts, or he was too busy trying to come up with the words at the last minute for an essay, to really talk.

"So," he said lamely, "What's been new with you lately?"

"Not much," she shrugged. "I've spent a lot of time trying to track the news, for any idea of what Voldemort is up to." Ron winced as she said the name. He wasn't sure he'd ever get used to it.

"You hadn't said anything about him recently," Ron said, "I guess I didn't want to know what was happening. Has there been any news?"

"Nothing that's useful," she said. "An archaeologist from the Royal museum disappeared not far from here recently, but it didn't even make the Daily Prophet. If I weren't getting Muggle newspapers, I wouldn't even know. They haven't found any trace of him or his dog."

"You're getting Muggle newspapers?" Ron asked, incredulously. "I've never seen you with them."

"That's because you're never around, Ron," she said impatiently, "They're usually delivered just before dinner. Where are you in the afternoons, anyway?"

"I'd rather not talk about that here," he said, looking around furtively.

She nodded, looking at him questioningly. "Alright, but I'll hold you to that."

Ron nodded back. "As you wish. So, any ideas on how you want to spend the afternoon, between Potions and History of Magic?"

"Well, that's unexpected. You're actually asking to spend time with me?"

"Yes, I am. What do you want to do? Go to the library and read Hogwarts: A History?"

She laughed, "Well, actually, there is something I've been dying to do."

"You name it."

"I got a Muggle game from my family for my Birthday. I wondered if you'd be willing to play with me?"

"Sure, I'd love to," Ron replied.

For the rest of the morning, Ron was walking on air. He wasn't sure what had changed between him and Hermione, or if it was just that he'd finally realized something that had been there all along. She seemed to actually care whether he spent time with her or not, and he realized that he cared, too. The chance of spending time with her, doing something just for her, seemed like the most important thing in the world, even more important than figure out what Harry and Ginny were plotting.

After Potions, they hurried up to the Common Room. Harry was nowhere in sight, but Ron didn't let himself get sidetracked, for once. "So, did you read anything else in those papers?" Ron asked, while Hermione set up the game on one of the tables. She was laying out little wooden squares, a board, and wooden bars in front of each of them. The board had blue and pink squares inked on it, and some had stars or little words in them. It looked bizarre, and he couldn't imagine how it could be as fun as Exploding Snap, but he figured it was worth a try.

"Nothing too important," she said. "I saw in the Daily Prophet that Kwikspell is putting out a new line of books. Have you heard anything from your father about them?"

"No," he replied, a little concerned. "Why would I?"

"The ministry seems to be upset with the line that they're taking, trying to capitalize on Voldemort's return. Your father was quoted in one of the articles."

"Really?" Ron asked. "These would be books with titles like, 'How to Recognize a Death Eater by his shoes' and 'How to write a Death Eater-Proof Will'?"

She nodded. "Those were a few of them. There was also one called 'How to Get A Death Eater To Kill Someone Else Instead of You', I think. Atrocious stuff, really."

Ron swallowed. Well, she had said that they would be published soon. He just hoped they left him off the cover. He decided to change the subject. "So, um, anything else from the Muggle papers?"

"Well, there was a little more on the missing Archaeologist. Apparently, he was trying to follow the trail left by a pair of Japanese tourists who had visited in the late 1800s. I did some research on them, it looks like one of them may have been a Wizard, here on some business for his government. All the records were destroyed in the War, though, so we don't know what he was doing."

"Do you think it had something to do with Slytherin?" Ron asked, thinking of the book that was stolen over the summer.

"It might have," she sounded skeptical. "It could have to do with almost anything, though. Now, onto the game..."

She explained how the game went. They were to make up words with the letters, with more points for long words, or words on special squares on the board, or words that used up rare letters, like Q. He smiled. How hard could this be?

Two hours later, as they were getting ready to go to History of Magic, he had his answer. "How can there possibly be that many two-letter words?" he said, crossly.

"Oh, stop complaining," she said back to him. "I let you get away with fellytone, didn't I?"

He nodded, "But that wasn't on a triple-word score."

"I'm sorry I made you sit through it, then," she said, and she started to march towards the stairs.

"Wait," he said, grabbing her arm.

"What?" she asked back, her lower lip turned down.

"I wanted to say thank you."

"What?" she asked again in a high voice.

"I wanted to say thank you, for introducing me to something new. It was great to spend time with you."

"Well... you're welcome," she said weakly.

"Shall we get to class?" Ron asked, gesturing towards the stairs with his arm.

"Yes, we probably should," she said. They marched down the stairs together. On the way down, they passed Lavender. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face looked stricken, but she didn't look at them as they passed. Ron looked back at her, but Hermione kept moving. He wondered if she was okay, but he didn't want to risk upsetting Hermione by going after Lavender.

Valentin Vrag was already seated in the History of Magic classroom when they arrived. He was sitting in a chair in the corner, looking very attentive, with an open book in his lap and a self-inking quill in his hand. Ron was getting used to seeing their foreign guest in his classes. Valentin seemed to have nothing better to do while in Great Britain than to sit in classes with Gryffindors and Slytherins, which seemed a little suspicious to him. Then again, he'd been suspicious of anyone from Bulgaria since Viktor Krum's entrance in the Triwizard Tournament. Or, at least, since Viktor danced with Hermione. 

He restrained his scowl with some difficulty, and sat next to Hermione. Ron pulled out his book for taking notes, but he left his Quidditch book in the bag. He didn't want to risk having Valentin see it accidentally.

Today's class focused more on the late eighteen hundreds, which apparently had been a time of great expansion for the Ministry of Magic in the United Kingdom. Ron couldn't imagine the Ministry without the immense bureaucracy it had become, but apparently it had once had many fewer departments.

Professor Binns also described some of the civic works that the Ministry had taken on during that time period, including, apparently, the creation of the British Magical Museum. Ron's attention was peaked by this, and he found himself listening avidly, much to the amazement of Hermione. Harry probably would have been even more amazed, if he had been awake.

As the hour drew to a close, and Professor Binns seemed ready to switch to another topic, Ron decided to risk speaking up. "Professor, can I ask you a question about the Museum?"

Professor Binns' translucent expression showed some amazement. "Yes, William, what did you want to know?"

"They had an exhibit on Hogwarts," Ron asked, "Do you know anything about it?"

"Well, yes. It was a matter of much controversy when they first created the exhibit. There was some feeling that they should give certain of the Founders more attention than others, or that they should leave some of the artifacts left by the Founders in storage, rather than displaying them. In the end, I believe that they decided that they should display all that had been donated by the families of the various Founders."

"Why wouldn't they want to display everything?" Hermione asked, her intellectual curiosity challenged.

"Well, Minerva, there was some feeling that certain of the items might still hold power, or that some secrets better left hidden might be openly available in the writings of the Founders. For example, Salazar Slytherin's biological research, or Godric Gryffindor's notes on his own contributions to the architecture of Hogwarts. Some believe that Slytherin was not alone in devising a secret chamber."

Valentin Vrag, who had remained so silent that Ron had almost forgotten that he was there, took this opportunity to speak out. "Professor, may I ask about something different? I believe you mentioned the contribution of the Bulgarian Mage's Guild to the Museum. Could I ask about that?"

Binns gladly discussed the contribution, since it involved relics from a Goblin revolt in Bulgaria, until the end of the class. Ron cursed Vrag silently for his intervention -- he'd hoped that he could have found something more useful out from Binns.

Hermione left the class arm in arm with Ron, with Harry, still groggy, bringing up the rear. She leaned over and whispered to Ron, "That was excellent. I wish I'd thought to ask him about that earlier."

"Me, too," Ron said glumly. "If only that bastard hadn't interfered, I might have been able to find out what Salazar's notes contained."

"That's not all," Hermione agreed, "Did you hear what he said about Godric Gryffindor? There might be another chamber here, somewhere, just waiting for us to find it." 

"Count me out," Harry said, overhearing the last part. "I don't need to go exploring in the girls' washrooms again."

Apparently, he had made his feelings heard a little bit too loud. Another student spoke up from nearby. "I'm sure that Pansy will be grateful to hear that," Draco Malfoy said, "But I'm a little disturbed."

"Sod off, Malfoy," Ron and Harry said in unison.

"Nice harmony," Draco repeated back. "Tell me, which one of you is the soprano and which one the alto? I always get those confused."

"I've had enough of this," Harry said proudly, and walked off. Draco watched him walk away, while Ron stood there, wondering why Malfoy wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Well, I guess that's all the fun for today," Draco said with false disappointment, throwing his flowing blonde hair over his shoulder. "It's not even worth talking to a Weasley." He started to turn away, but Ron grabbed his shoulder.

"I'm not through with you, Malfoy," he said through gritted teeth.

"I'm sorry," Draco sniffed, "Do you think you have anything to say to me? I can't believe that you'd have the courage to say anything without your friend here to protect you."

"I've got courage enough for a git like you, Malfoy," Ron snapped back.

They had drawn a crowd of students. Ron saw someone pushing their way through the crowd, and grimaced. "Is there something going on here?" Professor Kwikspell asked, acerbically. 

Ron took a step back, "Nothing important, Professor."

Draco shook his head, "Nothing at all. Just discussing the nature of respect with Weasley, here."

Professor Kwikspell cocked her head. "Somehow, I imagine that there was more to the discussion. Five points from Gryffindor, and be off with you." The crowd dispersed quickly, students trying to avoid having any of the ill luck rub off on them.

Ron caught up with Harry in the hallway just outside the Great Hall. "What was that about, mate? Just leaving us there?"

"I thought you could handle Malfoy alone," Harry said. "Was I wrong?"

Ron was speechless.

"Look, I didn't mean it as an insult. It's just that one of these days, I'll need to finally take on Voldemort, and I don't think it will be long until that happens. When it does, I won't have time for Malfoy."

"But, that's not like it's going to happen tomorrow, is it?" Ron asked, looking for reassurance.

"Don't be too sure, mate," Harry said. "Don't be too sure. If I could find him..." His eyes were on fire. Ron decided that he had reason to worry -- he might be running out of time sooner than he thought.


	6. The Ecology of the Hogwarts Broom Closet

Ronald Weasley and the Armor of Gryffindor

**Chapter Six : The Ecology of A Hogwart's Broom Closet**

"All the world loves a lover." -- Ralph Waldo Emerson 

Hermione was holding Ron's hand. This in and of itself wasn't cause for celebration, since she had done it a few times recently, but Ron was finally starting to realize that it meant something. What, exactly, neither of them had said in so many words.

Ron was afraid to say anything about it. He worried that just by discussing it, by calling attention to whatever had changed between them, he might destroy it. Hermione didn't say anything about it, either. She just gripped his hand tightly on the way to class, and between class and lunch.

After lunch, he held his hand out to her again, and she accepted it. He walked towards one of the less-used corridors, his heart pounding, as he wondered what he should say to her.

"So, Ron, where are we going?" Hermione said, relieving him of the responsibility for breaking the silence.

"I'm not really sure," Ron confessed, "Neither of us have class right now, and I thought maybe we could just go for a walk."

"That sounds great," Hermione said. She sounded nervous. What did that mean? Was it good? Ron wasn't sure. He wasn't usually big on books, but if someone could have given him a textbook to Hermione, or even girls in general, he would have read it cover to cover. And not just for the illustrations.

"Do you have any idea what they use these rooms for?" Ron asked, curious at how much of the castle seemed to have stayed unused.

"Well, according to Hogwarts: A History, they used to hold more graduate training here. Especially during the first few hundred years of Hogwarts, they would train law enforcement and even soldiers here, before the Ministry started to do it instead."

"Amazing," Ron said. He could almost feel the echoes of the past soldiers here, young Hogwarts graduates getting ready to face down a Dark Wizard and his minions. He shivered, feeling the weight of the old building around him.

"Are you cold?" Hermione asked, feeling his shivering.

"No, it's just this place," he said. "I can't believe the choices that they had to make back then, when the Muggles still believed in magic, and would try to attack a Light wizard as fast as a Dark one. Learning to be an Auror, when you knew you'd probably end up raising Muggle suspicion from your strange habits. The bravery of those people..." Ron trailed off.

"That's not the only kind of bravery," Hermione said softly. "How about the bravery of someone who risks his life for his friends, even when he's sure that he won't survive? You've done that more than once."

Ron blushed at the praise. "So have you," he said. "I'm sure there's no braver witch around."

She looked down. "I don't know that I'd say that. There are things that are harder to do than dying."

Ron replied, "Such as?"

Looking around, she pulled Ron into a small room off the passageway. It was cramped, with a few ancient brooms leaning against the wall. She lit her wand faintly, and looked into Ron's eyes. "When you die doing something heroic, at least you know you'll be remembered. It can be harder to say something risky, even if it seems silly..." Hermione seemed to be casting about for words, but Ron knew what she was talking about.

He took her other hand, so that he was holding both of them, and just stared in her eyes. For a long moment, that was all that they both did, and then she stood on her tip-toes, to get closer to his face, and he leaned down to meet hers. They both closed their eyes, and their lips met.

It was Ron's first kiss. He was scared that he was mistaken, that he'd somehow read the signals wrong, that she hadn't meant for this to happen. But she was kissing him as much as he was kissing her. He forgot his fear, forgot just about everything except for the amazing sensations. He wrapped his hands around Hermione and held her tightly.

One of his hands moved up to cradle the back of her head, his fingers slipping through her hair. He rested the other hand on the small of her back, just north of forbidden territory. She opened her mouth slightly, her tongue lightly questing for his.

As thoughts started to return to him, his fear came back. He was as afraid to stop kissing her as he had been afraid to start. He wondered if she would do this again. He wondered if she liked it as much as he did. He wondered why it had suddenly become so much brighter in the room.

"Mister Weasley! Miss Granger!" Professor Kwikspell's sharp voice barked out. "Isn't this a surprise... two Weasleys in one day. I'm sure your parents will be quite pleased."

Hermione and Ron broke apart swiftly, blinking in the light from the open closet door.

"Well, what have you to say for yourselves?" Professor Kwikspell asked. "Surely you know that this is a totally inappropriate use of a school room."

"I quite agree," came Professor McGonagall's voice from behind Professor Kwikspell. "And I will take this matter from here."

"Minerva, I can handle this," Professor Kwikspell replied. Ron wondered idly if Professor Kwikspell was an Animagus. This looked like the beginnings of a proper catfight. His money was on McGonagall, although he was sure that he didn't want to be in trouble with either one of the Professors.

"They are from my house, Karine," Professor McGonagall replied. Her imperturbable act was obviously just an act, a gesture of contempt for Professor Kwikspell. Ron waited for her to strike back, but Professor McGonagall drove the killing strike home. "And, besides, I would think that it would be better for them to be judged by someone not known for the same crime. Wouldn't you agree?"

Professor Kwikspell turned purple. "That is totally inappropriate, Minerva. You can't say such things in front of... in front of... these students. Especially Mister Weasley, who seems incapable of understanding how polite society behaves."

"Now, Professor, I'm certain that they didn't hear anything they would repeat. Miss Granger, especially, is the soul of discretion. And I'm certain she can keep Mister Weasley from saying anything that he shouldn't."

Hermione tried her best to look like a cherub. Ron didn't bother -- he knew that his innocent act didn't fool anyone.

Professor Kwikspell let out an exasperated sigh, and left without another word. Well, that got Ron away from one person that had it in for him. McGonagall looked plenty mad for both of them, though, so he wasn't sure if that would really help him out.

"Miss Granger, I am quite disappointed with you. While I, too, was once a teenager, I would have thought you would have been able to keep up a better display of propriety, given the number of people that are seeking anything to use against you. Or at least, I would have thought you could have used a locking charm. Ten house points from Gryffindor. I would give you detention, but that would be noticeable enough that it would be difficult to keep tongues from wagging, and I would rather keep this incident as quiet as possible. Although, given that the whole castle already knows about our other pair of young lovers, that may be difficult."

"Which other pair?" Ron asked without thinking.

"Well, I suppose you'll hear soon enough. Professor Sprout found your sister and Mister Potter in the Greenhouse. She's going to have to throw away a number of plants that were psychologically damaged. What's worse, she was leading in a crowd of first years at the time. I don't think that young Miss MacLay will ever be the same."

Ron couldn't form a coherent thought. "Harry... Ginny... together?"

Professor McGonagall sighed, "Indeed, and well put. But we, as Professors, will deal with the matter, Mister Weasley. I must request that you not do anything about that matter yourself, or you will find yourself in detention after all."

"I'm sure he'll be alright, Professor," Hermione said, putting her hand on Ron's shoulder.

Ron still hadn't managed to complete a sentence. Professor McGonagall looked at him critically, as if trying to decide his fate. She nodded, finally. "Well, then, run along. And make sure that the next time you decide to engage in romanticism on Hogwarts grounds, you are more careful."

Ron nodded dumbly, while Hermione gave her assurances. Once Professor McGonagall had left, Hermione looked at Ron. "Are you OK?"

"I'm going to kill him."

"Ron, you can't," Hermione said. She looked angry. "I wasn't talking about him, anyway. Are you okay with what happened with us?"

"I'm going to kill him," Ron repeated, and then he rewound her statements in his head. "Yes, I'm okay with what happened. I'm more than okay. It was amazing," he said, but he noticed that his words weren't having the desired effect. Hermione's eyes were starting to tear up.

"I thought it was special," she said, her voice shaking with emotion, "but all you can think about is Harry?"

"No, it was amazing. I didn't think about Harry or Ginny while we were in the closet," he said, trying to find something to head off an explosion. "I couldn't think at all, it was just..."

"No big surprise there, you not thinking. Oh, never mind," Hermione said, looking like she was holding back tears. "We don't need for anyone else to hear about this. I'll see you at dinner." She ran off towards Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Ron decided not to follow her -- he didn't think she'd appreciate him barging in, and he didn't need to be caught somewhere else out of bounds quite so soon.

He walked dejectedly down to the Quidditch Pitch, where he sat, watching flying practice and waiting for them to clear out. He wished Professor Hooch hadn't switched practice to the Pitch, but apparently there had been a lot of complaining from the classrooms about distractions from flying students trying to catch Rememberalls. He heard someone walking up behind him, but he didn't turn. Ron figured it was just another student, but he was startled when Luna sat down next to him. 

"Hello, Ron," Luna said in her dreamy voice. "I haven't spoken with you much recently."

"No, we haven't talked. How has your term been so far?" Ron felt uncomfortable around Luna. Most people did, he supposed, but he thought he was unusual in feeling bad about it.

"The same as usual," Luna said. She was looking just past Ron, her eyes not meeting his because they were pointed at something far off in space. "I don't think I've lost quite as many things this term, though."

Harry had told Ron about his discussions with Luna towards the end of last term. Ron had been outraged at the time, although now he felt even guiltier for not talking with Luna. "Umm," he said. Then there was silence, and Ron searched for something to say. "I wanted to thank you for your letter over the summer."

"I couldn't let you go without warning, after you were so nice to me last year. Did you heed my warning?"

Ron hesitated. He didn't want to say no, so he fudged. "I can honestly say that we didn't have a single Dark House Elf make it into the Burrow successfully."

She beamed, "That's wonderful. I'm so glad that I could help." Then she fell silent again. She was still staring just past Ron's head, though, and it was starting to get disturbing.

Finally, he spoke up. "Is there something you wanted to talk about?"

"Well," she said, "I wanted to ask you about something. My father never used to ask me about the people here at school, but after last year's article with Harry, he wondered if I could ask you about something."

She fell silent again. After a few minutes, Ron said, "Yes?"

She continued, "Well, he heard that your father was investigating the break-in at the British Magical Museum." Then she fell silent again.

Ron had to restrain himself from physically reaching out and grabbing her. He tried to hide the impatience in his voice, "And you're talking to me, why, exactly?" Well, maybe he didn't hide all of the impatience in his voice. She didn't seem to notice, though. There were advantages to talking to a woman with even less people skills than him.

"Well, father thinks that it has something to do with Slytherin's experiments. He has a picture of an Arachneataur, one of Slytherin's inventions, and he'd like to use it in the magazine. He wanted me to find out if your father could comment on whether or not Slytherin's journal was taken. He also wondered if he could comment on whether or not Slytherin's love child, Herman, was still frozen in a magic vault under the museum."

Ron ignored the last part of her comment, fixated on the rest. "Arachnea-what? Doesn't that mean some sort of spider?"

"Only half," Luna said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "It has the body of an Acromantula, and the head and shoulders of a man. Sort of like a centaur," she said, "but with eight legs. Oh, and fangs of a spider."

"I hate spiders," Ron said, dully.

Luna rolled her eyes. "Everyone knows that. That's probably why your father's working on the case. Either that, or it's because of Herman."

Ron didn't know what to say to that -- he was still thinking of a homicidal giant spider. Then he shook his head. There was no reason to believe that Luna's story was anything other than her usual meanderings.

Luna waited patiently through his silence. He thought it was probably the least she could do, considering what he had waited through. Ron almost forgot that she was waiting for him to say something. 

When he realized that she'd keep waiting until she heard something from him, he decided he had to say something. "I don't know anything about Herman or anything else. I can ask my father, though."

"Thanks, I appreciate that. Have a good day, Ron. And good luck in the game this Saturday." Ron waved his goodbyes, and watched as Luna walked away.

The game. Ron had almost forgotten. They had the first Quidditch match of the season on Saturday. It was just against Hufflepuff, though, and he didn't think it would be anything worth worrying about.

Flying class was just letting out. Ron watched as everyone filtered out of the Pitch. Once they were all gone, he waited a few more minutes to make sure they were all gone. Then he practiced for a while on the Bludgers before dinner.

When Ron walked into the Great Hall, a great hush fell over the room. Nearly all the students fell silent, and most of them scurried to sit down, if they weren't already. A scroll, probably dropped by someone, blew aimlessly across the room. There were a few exceptions, however. Blaise Zabini stood up and moved to lean against the wall. He was staring at Ron, in what looked like anticipation. 

Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle were being much more obvious, however. Draco stalked over from the Slytherin table, with his brainless bodyguards following close behind. He had a knowing smirk on his face. Draco's blonde hair swung out behind him as he walked. His high cheekbones looked especially accented today. As Draco walked up to him, Ron gasped. "Good lord, you're not wearing makeup, are you?"

In the silence of the Great Hall, Ron's insult echoed. There was laughter from most of the tables, even the Slytherins. Draco looked furious. He spat back, "That's none of your business, Weasley. I had a question for you -- how does it feel knowing that Potter is shagging your sister?"

Draco's question didn't echo as Ron's had, probably because the laughter from Ron's insult was still echoing. The people who were close enough to hear, though, weren't laughing now. Ron saw the Hufflepuffs who had overheard gasping, he saw the Ravenclaws jumping under the tables, and the nearby Gryffindors had stood up immediately, anger in their eyes, except for Hermione, Harry, and Ginny, all of whom were still seated nearby, their heads down.

Ron had almost managed to forget about Harry. Somehow, half-spiders, Bludgers, and Hermione had been enough to take his mind off of what he'd heard from McGonagall. He noticed that Harry wasn't standing to deny Draco's accusation, though, and neither was Ginny.

Ron looked at Draco. "I think that's between me and Harry, Malfoy, and we can settle things without you."

The smirk returned to Draco's face. "I didn't think you'd do anything about it. You're probably getting a cut of Ginny's hourly rate."

Harry stopped pretending to ignore them, and stood. Ginny was grabbing at his arm, trying to keep him seated, but Harry seemed to be ignoring her. He had his eyes fixed on Draco. "Take that back, Malfoy."

Ron looked over at Harry. "You can stay out of it, Harry. She's my sister. I'll take care of it."

Draco grinned, enjoying his audience, "What's the matter, Weasley? Afraid he'll ask for a discount?"

Ron didn't hesitate, he just swung his fist. He felt it impact with Draco's dainty chin, heard a loud crack, and saw Malfoy fall back into the arms of Crabbe and Goyle.

"Good one, mate," Harry said, clapping him on the shoulder. He didn't expect what came next -- a right hook from Ron to the eye, shattering his glasses and knocking him back against the table. Ron turned and left the Great Hall; suddenly, dinner didn't seem that important.

The next morning at breakfast, Ron felt like he was being shunned. Hermione was sitting next to Harry, talking to him quietly, when Ron came down. Seats that he tried to move towards were suddenly saved for someone else, or people would move elsewhere. He sat down alone at the end of the table, figuring it wasn't worth the effort to join anyone.

Ron tried to talk to Hermione at lunch, but she just turned her head, with a loud, "Hmph!" He sat at the end of the table again, instead. He wasn't alone this time, though. Lavender sat next to him. She didn't mention yesterday at all, for which he was grateful. She just talked about world events, mostly the ones found in WWN or the Quiddler, and about classes.

Ron felt comfortable talking with Lavender. He didn't feel at all challenged, like he had to be someone better than he was. She didn't even seem to expect anything from him.

At Saturday's game, Ron played Ginny, instead of Potter, as Seeker. Neither one of them was talking to him, but he blamed Ginny less for the week's events. Potter, who had known about her crush for years, had obviously taken advantage of her. 

They won the game, but barely - they had been behind 170 to 30 when Ginny caught the Snitch. Hufflepuff's team looked happier than Ron would have liked, especially Terry Boots, who was smiling gleefully. Ron wasn't sure why they'd been as tough as they were, but it might have had something to do with the inability of the Gryffindor team to cooperate with each other.

Ron received a Howler the next Monday from his mother, as did Harry and Ginny. Ron was pleased that his seemed to have been created last -- she hadn't given him nearly as much venom as Ginny, although it sounded like Harry had gotten an almost equivalent earful.

By now, Ron had heard several different versions of what had happened between Harry and Ginny in the greenhouse. Discounting the ones that sounded like they had been over-embellished, it sounded like Harry and Ginny had been kissing when Sprout and the children found them. No hands, no missing clothes, and, according to a disappointed Ravenclaw first year, no tongue. Since Ron, himself, hadn't been quite so chaste, he wondered whether or not he'd been wrong to be quite so mad at Harry. After all, with Harry not talking to him, he couldn't very well make sure that he wasn't up to something else.

Ron spent the next several weeks feeling vaguely guilty, and very disconnected. Lavender often sat with him, but they didn't talk of anything of substance. Ron missed being part of a close circle of friends. He also knew that he was letting his father down, by not keeping an eye on Harry.

The Professors were mostly the same towards him, except for Snape and Kwikspell. Snape actually treated Ron better. Ron didn't know if it was because he was happy to see the friends parted, or if it was because Ron's mood was so much like the Professor's lately. Kwikspell treated him even worse. She would team him with Harry in contests that were likely to end up with one or the other getting hurt, and goad them into taking things out on each other.

Ron spent most of his meals looking over at his friends, wondering if there was any way to patch things up. They didn't seem to notice him, or even to acknowledge him. Neither did most of the other students, although Luna still stopped by to talk with Ron occasionally, and Lavender didn't seem to mind having Ron all to herself.

The Halloween Ball came, and went. Hermione didn't go with anyone, Ron noted. Neither did he. Lavender asked him at the last minute, but he declined. She looked crushed, so he ended up suggesting that they stay in the common room and play games. Hermione was across the room studying all night, while the rest of Hogwarts partied. Harry, of course, took Ginny.

The next day, when the owls came in, Ron had his eye out for the Daily Prophet. Luna had hinted that they might have sold another article to the Prophet, which Ron might be interested in. He was surprised, though, to see Errol flying in, barely over the table, a slightly damp letter clutched in his talons. Ginny and Harry were leaning over, looking in each other's eyes. They didn't seem to see him coming. Ron tried to reach out to stop the batty owl, but he didn't get to it in time, and his quick cry served only to draw the rest of the students' attention in time to see Errol crash into Ginny's head.

She cried out softly from the impact, but seemed to be alright, if a bit shaken. Errol looked accusingly up at her from the table, where he was walking slightly in circles.

"Thanks, Ron," Harry said sarcastically. "You couldn't have stopped him in time?"

"I'm not the Seeker," Ron snapped back. "I tried, but he got through anyway."

"Oh, shut it, both of you," Ginny said. "I think Ron's suffered enough. Besides, you have to hear this." She held the letter in her hand, and Harry and Ron looked at her, expectantly.

"I'd written Charlie to thank him for recommending that book to you, and he wrote back. He says he never recommended any book. He's never even heard of the book I got you."

Hermione had heard the last part, and she looked alarmed. "Ron, this is bad. You need to get someone to look at the book right away." She seemed to have forgotten that she wasn't talking to him.

"Well, there's someone else who has already seen it," Ron said. "Professor Ding has been helping me with some of the exercises."

"And she hasn't said anything about it that makes you worried?"

"Constantly," Ron said, deadpan, "but not any more than I was when I first read it. I'm getting pretty good."

"Really?" Hermione replied, "You still haven't let me see you practice."

Ron bit back his reply, that he couldn't very well invite her when she wasn't talking to him, and just shook his head. "You're welcome to come any time that you want to. Just don't make too much of a spectacle of it. I don't need anyone from Slytherin there."

She nodded.

Ron continued, "Would you like to come by this afternoon?"

"Sure," she said, smiling. They left breakfast together, headed for the second floor. There was a shout ahead of them, a strangled cry from Argus Filch. Ron joined the other students in rushing up the stair to see what his problem was.

Mr. Filch knelt in front of a broom closet, whose door had been torn off its hinges. The door lay in splinters in front of the closet. The back of the closet had also been ripped out, revealing an obvious passage behind it. There were shreds of spider webs attached to the edges of the passageway.

"Mrs. Norris," Filch said, weakly.

Albus strode into the area confidently, students moving out of his way as if by magic. "Argus, we should discuss this in private. Professor Kwikspell?" he asked, looking at somewhere behind Ron.

"Yes, Headmaster?" she replied, moving up. The students didn't part for her as they had for Albus, still crowding to get a look at the scene. Ron saw most of the Professors in the crowd, along with Valentin Vrag.

"I will take Mr. Filch to Madame Pomfrey. I would like you to stay here and seal off the passageway. We don't know who might use the passage."

"We Don't Know Who?" Valentin shouted, looking panicked.

Albus held out his hand. "Calm down, Mr. Vrag. I believe you are confused. I am not referring to the one that styles himself as Lord Voldemort, or You Know Who."

"Who?" Valentin asked, now looking puzzled, but Albus dismissed him with a shake of his head.

"We can discuss this at some other time, Mr. Vrag. For now, time is of the essence. Students, you are dismissed. Please return to your dormitories for the remainder of the afternoon. Food will be served to you there."

"I guess I can't come to your practice this afternoon," Hermione said, softly.

"Next time," Ron responded, "or whenever you can make the time for me. If you still want to come."

"Next time," she replied, affirming, "But, Ron..."

"Yes?"

"No more broom closets," she whispered, looking at the remains of the cleaning implements.


	7. Practice Makes Perfect

**Chapter Seven : Practice Makes Perfect**

..He who laughs does not believe in what he laughs at, but neither does he hate it. Therefore, laughing at evil means not preparing oneself to combat it, and laughing at good means denying the power through which good is self-propagating. -- Umberto Eco, "The Name of the Rose" 

Ding stood by Ron in the Quidditch Pitch. She had actually gone as far as reserving it with Professor Hooch for their lessons this week. Lessons... he hadn't thought about it in those terms, but the truth was, he had started taking their informal meetings as seriously as any of his other classes.

Ron wasn't sure why it was so important. He hadn't deliberately chosen to pursue what Ding called the Way, and he still wasn't sure how that fit in with his ideal view of the future. It felt good, though, when he practiced.

Hermione hadn't come down with him to the Pitch. She felt a little unsettled about going outside the school, and he hadn't wanted to pressure her. He was too afraid of what she might do, to do that.

He almost never missed a Bludger anymore, which was more amazing because they were running two of them at full strength, while blindfolded, with a bat in either hand. A month without talking to Hermione had done amazing things to focus his mind on other tasks -- sublimation, Ding had called it, whatever that meant.

He thought he heard Ding moving behind him, and smiled. She had taken to trying to throw him off by occasionally stopping a Bludger and letting it go, to throw off his rhythm. He'd decided on a new approach when that happened - if he heard her behind him, he'd just duck the next Bludger, instead of hitting it. She'd already proven her ability to catch them. As the next Bludger came from in front of him, he put his new plan into action, twisting to the left.

He heard a startled gasp from ahead of him, and a shriek from behind, which made him realize that he'd made a terrible mistake. Ding was still in front of him and to the left, which meant that someone else was about to be crushed by the Bludger, and he had a strong suspicion of whom that someone would be.

Ron pivoted quickly, and reached out his hand. The world seemed to slow around him. He could sense the Bludger, feel it slightly outpacing him, and he pushed harder, hoping that he could catch up with it before it reached Hermione. For a moment, he finally succeeded in completely forgetting the pattern, and just hitting the ball.

There was a loud smash as he hit the ball, and time returned to normal. Ron whipped off his blindfold, dropping both of the bats on the ground, hoping that he had been able to deflect the ball before it hit Hermione. Behind him, he heard Ding catching one of the Bludgers. The other, though, was in front of him. He had succeeded in connecting with it, but he'd done more than just changing its course. It lay in pieces, completely destroyed, before a shocked Hermione. 

"Ron, how did you do that?" Hermione asked.

Ron said, without really thinking about it, "I'm not sure."

Ding looked proud. "Exactly! You can't know how to do this, you have to feel it, you have to just do it."

"That doesn't make sense, Professor," Hermione said boldly. "Surely you can't suggest that he act without understanding how it all works."

"Miss Granger," Professor Ding responded softly, "There is a difference between understanding the process, and following it. While it is laudable to know everything you can about every muscle and bone in your body, it will not help you to walk."

Hermione seemed chastened, despite Ding's easy tone. "I'm sorry Professor, I didn't think about it that way."

Ron stepped in, "I'm not sure I'd thought about it that way before, either."

Professor Ding looked at both of them. "I'm sure that you did not. It isn't the way that most wizards and witches think. You're trained the same way that Muggles are -- to look for the explanation behind the magic. You don't learn to just become part of the magic."

Hermione pursed her lips, and Ron waited for the coming confrontation. He'd usually been the one to cause the look that was on her face right now. This was the look that proclaimed that someone had stated a fact that wasn't in Hermione's worldview. Ron didn't think he'd seen that look directed at someone other than him since Umbridge left.

Ding deflected it as easily as she would a Bludger, though. "I won't pretend that there isn't a better explanation," she confessed, "but I'm much better at the knowing side of things than the doing."

Hermione seemed mollified at that. She had remembered another topic, though. "Professor, we found out that Ron shouldn't have had that book. Ginny bought it for him on her brother's recommendation, but he says that he never recommended it."

"Really?" Ding raised an eyebrow. "That's interesting. Well, there's nothing harmful in that book. I suppose there could be... problems... that would develop from his studying it, such as the time he's lost studying other topics, but that seems rather subtle for most of our enemies, wouldn't you say?"

Ron noticed the use of the word, 'our'. He hadn't consciously thought of whether or not Ding was on their side. He had just assumed that since Dumbledore had hired her, and she hadn't shown interest in being a Dark Arts teacher, she was probably okay. She was hinting, though, that she was a more active ally. He wasn't sure what he thought of that. It was good to have allies, but he didn't have any way of knowing if she was really on their side.

Hermione seemed to pick up on his thinking. She answered Ding's question, while Ron was still lost in thought. "You're right, Professor, but I don't know if we can discount the possibility. It's not like they haven't attacked Harry's friends before."

"Well, I don't think this is an attack," Ding said, "but I agree that we should find out who made the recommendation and why. In the meantime, I can't think of a reason to prevent Ron from learning everything that he can."

Hermione nodded, but she seemed reluctant. "I suppose not."

"Since I have your approval," Ding said, her voice not betraying the sarcasm that was inherent in the words, "I think that we should continue." She tossed the Bludger at Ron, and he batted it away. It didn't explode this time, but Ron was pretty sure that he could make it, if he wanted to. He couldn't afford to replace too many Bludgers, though, so he decided not to try. 

Hermione sat and watched, more or less patiently. When he came close to missing a Bludger, she would shriek; when he had a particularly good save, she'd yell in encouragement. This felt amazing, even better than Quidditch, since he knew that Hermione was there entirely for him.

Ron was still on a high when they called it a day, heading off for dinner. As soon as Ding was out of earshot, Hermione threw her arms around Ron. She didn't kiss him, but she held him tightly. "I can't believe that you were doing something so dangerous," she said. 

"Thanks for caring," he replied.

She pulled away, and looked into his eyes, "You would have, in my place."

Ron nodded. "Of course I would have."

Hermione had a sudden look of realization, abruptly changing the subject. "I almost forgot to ask. Why did you look so alarmed by what Professor Ding said?" She started walking back towards the school.

"Well, it was the whole idea of the enemies being 'our' enemies. I mean, sure, I thought Ding was okay and all that, but I hadn't really thought about her being on our side or not."

"Why does that bother you?" Hermione asked. 

Ron was thrilled; he was actually explaining something other than Quidditch to Hermione. "Well, think back to our first year. We thought that Snape was working with You-Know-Who, but we were wrong. Then think about year three. We keep not knowing whom there is to trust. We know that Dumbledore trusts her enough to let her teach here," he said, as he opened the door into the entry way, "but he let Kwikspell teach here too, and she's probably You-Know-Who's errand girl."

A nasal voice came from beside the door, "Mister Weasley!"

Ron gulped, and turned to his right. He said meekly, "Yes, Professor Snape?" The Potions Master was studying one of the large hourglasses that kept track of the school's House Points. Ron hadn't even thought to look around as he had voiced his last statement.

"I would have thought that a Hogwarts Prefect such as yourself would have learned to avoid such inappropriate statements. Can you provide any explanation for your actions? Be quiet, Miss Granger," Snape said, looking at Hermione as he said the last, silencing her defense. 

"Well, Professor, I don't have a good explanation. I was just saying that we really didn't know who was on You-Know-Who's side. I mean, we used to think you might be, and we couldn't have been more wrong." Ron wasn't being intentionally flattering, it just came out that way, but his statements seemed to mollify Snape. Of course, he couldn't just stop there. "And Professor Kwikspell, well, she's even more of a pain than you are. Not that you're a pain, Professor," he backpedaled, but it was too late.

"Twenty house points from Gryffindor," Snape said, "and detention tomorrow night. I will inform my students to avoid cleaning their caldrons between now and then, to ensure that you have a memorable experience this time."

"Yes, Professor," Ron almost squeaked, as Snape turned and marched off, his cloak swinging in the air behind him.

"Amazing," Hermione said, "I think you were about to get away before you stuck your foot in your mouth. Would you like some mustard with that?"

"Very funny," Ron said, peevishly.

They entered the Great Hall together, and quickly sat down. There was a titter of conversation at their entrance, either because someone had heard that he'd upset Snape, or because he and Hermione were together again.

Hermione seemed to be avoiding looking at Lavender. She was seated across the table from Ron at an angle, and she kept trying to meet his eyes. Ron felt caught in the middle. He was relieved when Harry sat down, mostly because Hermione seemed to have something to talk with him about.

Hermione had barely waited for Harry to sit down before she asked him a question, "Harry, I was doing some reading today. I wondered... have you ever had a chance to look into your family history?"

"No, I never have," Harry said. He had that pole-axed expression on his face, like he always did when he found out something about his parents that he didn't already know, or when someone pointed out that they were gone. Ron hoped that Hermione was going somewhere with this, and that it wasn't just torture.

"Well, I was doing some reading today, for the History of Magic, and I found something out that I hadn't known. I found a genealogy that connects with yours. You're related to Godric Gryffindor, Harry!"

"Really?" Harry looked pleased. Ron hated to dash his hopes, but there was something he was obviously overlooking.

"Hermione, isn't half the wizarding world related to Gryffindor? After all, the pure-breds have done an awful lot of inbreeding since then," Ron asked.

"True, but it's complicated. I think, and I could be wrong, that Harry is actually the patrilineal descendant of Godric."

Blank stares greeted her.

"Look, you've never met anyone named Gryffindor or Slytherin, right? That's because in those days, no one had surnames. The best you could hope for was an epithet that described you, or that described your personal crest. Godric Gryffindor's son was named Cal Daisardan, after the place where he was born. His son spent some time in France, where he was known for his skill with Gate magic. His name was Vincent Portier, which meant gatekeeper. He was the first to hand the name down."

"And in time, Portier became Potter?" Harry asked.

"I think so," Hermione said. "Although the records are a little unclear. It's also possible that the Potters were just friends of the Portiers, who ended up managing their estates."

"So, forgive me, but why is this important?" Ron asked. He didn't want to be snotty, but one more reason to worship the Boy Who Lived didn't seem like ideal dinnertime conversation to Ron. He didn't think it would do Harry any good, anyway, to find another thing he hadn't known about his family's past.

"Well, you remember what Binns was saying about there being talk of Godric Gryffindor leaving behind a secret chamber of his own?" Hermione's voice had fallen to a whisper, and Ron and Harry had to lean in to hear her. They nodded. 

"Well," she continued, "if there is a chamber, there's a chance that he's stored his armor there. It was never found after he died, and it was rumored that only his Heir could safely wear it."

"So, you're saying that Harry's the only one who can wear it?"

"Possibly," she hesitated. "The problem is, according to the legend, if someone who isn't his Heir wears the armor, they won't live past the next sunrise. I don't know if I'm sure enough of his ancestry to tell him to wear it."

"Well, if it isn't the Potters, who would it be?" Harry asked. "I suppose it's too much to hope for that it's Bill Weasley or something."

"Godric had a daughter as well as a son. If the Potters aren't related to the Portiers, and if the inheritance could pass to the matrilineal line -- that means through the daughter, Ron, don't be daft -- then her descendants could wear the armor. The problem is, her family ended up being driven out of Scotland in the early eleventh century. They were last spotted joining up with some of the Romany in Eastern Europe. I think we can safely count that branch of the family as lost. If Harry isn't the Heir, then I don't think we're going to find him."

"What does it matter, anyway? What does this armor do that's so special?"

"I'm not sure," Hermione said. "I don't think it protects against any of the Unforgiveables, but it should be effective against most Muggle weapons."

"I don't think we'll have to worry much about those," Ron said, doubtfully. "I haven't seen many Death Eaters walking around with machine-gums."

"That's machine guns, Ron, not gums. And you're right, they don't seem to use Muggle weapons. Maybe it's pointless to even worry about it, since we don't know if Harry could even use the Armor." She looked crestfallen.

Ron felt bad for having dashed her hopes. "You never know," he said, trying to provide her with a ray of hope, "Maybe the Armor will protect against something else that You Know Who would use. It doesn't hurt to know about it at least. Maybe we can use it on our NEWTs."

She brightened up, "That's true. If we could find any proof that Gryffindor's chamber actually exists, I'm sure we could get highest marks on our History of Magic NEWTS."

"Well, then," Ron said, "Where is it?"

"I'm not sure," Hermione replied thoughtfully, "But I'm sure we'll be able to find out."

"I don't suppose there's any record of it being found before?" Harry asked. "Maybe someone put the armor on before, and their ghost is still hanging around the entry way?"

"I don't think we'll get that lucky again, Harry," Hermione replied, almost snidely. "But we have a year and a half, we'll probably be able to find it by then."

"Well, I hope so," Ron replied. "I can't imagine having that long to find something secret. We're usually looking for it at the end of the school year while they're setting the table for the Leaving Feast. I'd hate to be late to it again."

"We'll do our best, Ron," Hermione said sardonically. She was looking at something over Ron's shoulders. "I wonder what she wants?"

"What?" Ron said, and looked back, himself. Luna was approaching them.

"I'm glad that I found you all together," she said. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Yes?" Ron answered.

"Well, I was thinking that even though Professor Kwikspell is actually teaching us practical work again, it might not hurt for us to gather the students from Dumbledore's Army back together again. After all, with something springing out of Broom Closets, who knows who might be attacked next?" She looked at Ron with a mischievous glint in her eye. He wondered if she knew something about his recent activities with Hermione.

"I think that's a good idea," Hermione said, ignoring her implication. "We need to be able to work on this together. I don't think we should try to keep it a secret, though."

"I agree," Luna said, in her dreamy voice. "I was thinking that one of us," she looked at Harry, "might consider asking Dumbledore if he would mind. It would save asking the various Heads of House."

"That sounds like a good idea," Ron said. "How about it Harry?"

"Me?" Harry replied. "I don't know... other than for lessons, Dumbledore has barely talked to me."

"Lessons?" Luna's ears perked up. "What sort of lessons are you getting from Dumbledore?"

"Umm... Remedial Potions. Snape said I needed more instruction, but I wasn't getting it from him."

"Really…" the word trailed off Luna's tongue, and her eyes were wild with speculation. Ron hoped that didn't mean that Harry would end up in the Quiddler.

"Yeah, it's only one night a week, though," Harry said. "I guess I could ask him the next time I have a lesson."

"That would be wonderful," she replied, "I'll see you later." She walked off towards the Ravenclaw table.

"I still think she's bonkers," Ron said, "but she has some good ideas."

"Yes, she does," Hermione said warily. "I hope she doesn't talk too much about your lessons, Harry. It wouldn't take much for You Know Who to guess what you're up to." Ron knew, as did Hermione, that Harry's Remedial Potions lessons were actually lessons in Occulumancy. This was still considered an important secret, as knowing it would lead to the discovery of what Harry's curse scar allowed, which might lead to more news stories about the crazy, and untrustworthy, Harry Potter, who thought what the Dark Lord wanted him to.

"Well, soon, it won't matter," Harry said. "I can block out Dumbledore, now, and I haven't had a dream in months."

"That's what you said the last time," Ron said. "You're not hiding anything, are you?"

Harry shook his head. He looked apologetic. "Look, I'm sorry about that. I couldn't be more sorry. If I'd learned it back then..." Harry trailed off, and Ron knew he was thinking of Sirius.

Hermione ventured to change the subject, "So, Ron, when do you think you'll find time to work on D.A.? You seem to be racking up detentions again."

"Not again," Harry groaned. "What about Quidditch? We're playing Ravenclaw in two weeks."

"It's only one night," Ron said, "It shouldn't get in the way of practice." 

"I hope not," Harry replied. "Look, I'll talk to you later. I've got to meet someone in the Library."

"In the Library?" Ron goggled at his back as he walked off. "Who would Harry be meeting in the Library? Besides you, I mean."

Hermione snickered, "I'm guessing Ginny, since she wasn't at dinner."

Ron demanded, "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing," Hermione answered, but her smirk made him think that he was still missing something. He let it go, though, and just made small talk with her until after dinner, when they went back up to the Gryffindor dormitory and played Scrabble.

~.~.~

Ron scowled as he rubbed at the caldrons in Snape's dungeon. He'd heard that, in preparation for this evening's detention, the Professor had picked some of the most repulsive potions possible for his class. He could believe it. 

He was rubbing a scouring brush against the inside of the caldron, removing what appeared to be overcooked eggs, sour milk curds, and molasses. His stomach was churning. The brush made a tinny sound as it rubbed against the iron, which echoed through the caldron and vibrated inside Ron's head.

After a few caldrons, Ron realized that the vibration wasn't just in his head. Something big was moving nearby.

Ron put the brush down next to the caldron, and walked stealthily towards the door. The vibration was getting louder. Ron opened the door. Across the hall from the Potions Dungeon, he saw the wall starting to shake. There was a thin black blade beginning to extrude from the wall.

He panicked. Ron left the Potions dungeon, running for the stairs, calling at the top of his lungs. "Professor! Professor!"

Unfortunately, the first Professor to answer his call was the one he least wanted to see. Even more unfortunately, he didn't see Professor Snape until after he had collided with him.

"Mister Weasley," Snape said, brushing himself off. "I do hope that you have a good excuse for this insult to my person."

"Professor, I'm sorry. It's just, the Arachneataur, it's coming through the wall."

"Through the wall," Snape replied, drawing the words out. "You are attempting to tell me that the large half-spider which was featured prominently in last week's Quiddler not only exists, but is now travelling through a Hogwarts wall?"

"Yes, Professor. Right across the hallway from the Potions Dungeon."

"I see," Snape said. "Stay right here."

Ron stood in place while Snape ran towards his beloved dungeon. There was the sound of several explosions. He winced at each of them. He realized that he was actually rooting for Snape, which was probably a sign of just how much he hated spiders.

A few minutes later, the explosions stopped. Snape walked back up the stairs, dusting himself off. "Yes, well, the creature, whatever it was, seems to have run away. I believe that it may have a high resistance to magic."

"Great," Ron grumbled. "Just what we need."

"What are you standing around here for?" Snape snapped back at him. "There are caldrons to clean. I'll inform Dumbledore about the incursion."

Ron stood there, with his mouth open. Surely, Snape wouldn't expect him to go back down there?

"Are you waiting for something?" Snape asked, "or would you like to lose more house points?"

"Sorry, Professor," Ron said, and he walked hesitantly towards the Potions Dungeon. He could feel Snape's eyes on his back until he was out of view.

The wall showed the results of the spider's assault and Snape's vigorous defense. The stone surrounding it had been melted into slag, sealing the entry way shut. He supposed that meant that he was as safe here as anywhere else, but he wished that he was somewhere higher up. He wondered if Snape would mind if he relocated all the caldrons to the Astronomy Tower. Ron shuddered; he had an image in his mind of the Potions Master finding him there with a stack of dirty caldrons, and decided that he was better off just finishing his job here.

Ron didn't get to sleep until nearly morning. The caldrons were difficult to scrub, but his biggest problem had been that he kept stopping to listen for underground vibrations or stone cutting.

At breakfast, Dumbledore stood to make an announcement. He informed the students that all secret passageways were to be considered off-limits, and that a Hogwarts student had narrowly missed being assaulted, only saved through the heroism of Professor Snape. Ron scowled; while he hadn't been mentioned by name, most people knew that he'd been in detention yesterday, so it wouldn't be long before the whole school knew that he had been rescued by the valiant Snape.

Ron's fears were soon realized, and for the next several weeks, he was the butt of a number of Gryffindor jokes. Most of the other houses left him alone, though. The Slytherins were probably ashamed that their head of house had succeeded in saving Ron, instead of waiting until after he was eaten to start his defense of Hogwarts.

Not everyone in Gryffindor made jokes about the incident. Ginny was horrified by it, Harry ignored it, and Hermione felt guilty. She kept saying that she wished she had stopped him from talking in front of Snape before it was too late, so he wouldn't have been stuck in detention at all. Lavender was hardly speaking to anyone, but she told Ron that she was happy that he was alright, and she was sure that he'd been brave.

While Ron was mostly concerned with how the attack had affected him, the rest of the school seemed more concerned about how it would affect them. Students were in fear of being attacked. Professor Snape had announced that he was brewing an anti-arachnid potion, which would render the walls impregnable, while Valentin Vrag had announced that he was sharing his own secret spider-repellant with Dumbledore to ensure the students' safety. Whatever the reason, no further attacks shook the school. The Daily Prophet hazarded a guess that Severus Snape had managed to destroy the invading creature, whatever it might be, while the Quiddler speculated that when it realized it couldn't get its hands on Harry Potter, it had left in search of other prey. 

No one stayed at school over the Yule holidays unless they had no other choice, or they were mental. Hermione fell into the latter category, as she was intent on completing some of her larger projects. Ron, against his better judgment, decided to stay with her. Harry and Ginny joined the group, as well. It was a much better Yule time than last year, although they decided to stay away from the walls and out of the dungeons. Neville hung around as well, and seemed completely oblivious to his role as the fifth wheel of the Gryffindor dormitory.

Ron spent every moment of the time that he could with Hermione. They weren't broom closet moments, though. Ron blamed Neville for that, but he also blamed himself. Hermione hadn't kissed him again like that since before their last fight, and he was starting to wonder if she would again, or if she had written it off as a mistake.

After all of the students got back, Dumbledore made an announcement about the Valentine's Ball. Ron looked at Hermione. She looked away -- Ron wondered what that meant. Did she want him to ask her, or not? He didn't want to ask and be turned down, but he couldn't wait until the last minute again. He was fairly sure that the Patil sisters wouldn't risk going out with him this time.

It only took him until the end of the meal to work up his courage to ask her. He snatched her hand while they were in the corridor after breakfast, and pulled her over to the side. "Look, Hermione, I know you probably don't want to go with me and all, but I wondered, if there weren't any internationally known Quidditch stars who've asked you out, if you would consider coming with me to the Ball."

"You know," she answered, "that's probably one of the longest sentences I've ever heard anyone utter. Even Colin Creevey can't usually go that long without a breath." She seemed to smile at Ron's tortured expression, but she quickly put him out of his misery. "Yes, I'll come with you Ron, of course." She kept hold of his hand, and they walked off.

January went by agonizingly fast. Ron had already outgrown last years' dress robes, and this year, he'd been stuck with second-hand robes again. He had already outgrown his brothers, and couldn't even make do with hand-me-downs anymore. He still didn't know how to dance, either.

When Valentine's Day arrived, Ron didn't want to leave his bed. He hadn't been able to buy anything for Hermione, and although he had written her a note, he couldn't send it. Harry had to threaten to levitate him downstairs in his dressing gown to get him to move. He kept trying to talk about what was bothering Ron, but Ron wouldn't say.

When Ron finally got downstairs, Hermione gave him a huge hug. She gushed, "They're beautiful!" She was holding a dozen roses in a bouquet bag under her left arm, and a small box of chocolates.

Ron started to stammer a protest, but Harry clapped his hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure he's glad you like them. I ordered the ones I got for Ginny from the same place."

Ron smiled weakly, taking the hint. "Yeah, I was really worried that you wouldn't think they were enough."

"No, Ron, it's the thought that counts. Ready for breakfast?"

"I'll be right down, I just need to show Harry something."

Harry looked anxious, but he followed Ron back up to their bedroom anyway, mostly because Ron had a tight grip on his arm. "Look, what do you think you're pulling?"

"You were falling apart because you couldn't get her some flowers. It was obvious. I just took care of it -- you can just not give me a Christmas present or something."

"Harry, you didn't even ask me. You put me in a position of lying to Hermione, who we both know is smarter than the two of us put together. She'll figure it out, and then she'll blame me."

"I know you don't like it when I help you out..."

"It's not helping me out, Harry. It's digging me a hole. I can do that for myself."

"Well, we'll just go down there, and tell her you didn't send her anything, and that will make it all better, won't it."

"No, wait a second. Harry, would you mind lending me the money to give Hermione flowers and candy?"

Harry was confused, "She's already got them."

"I know we're doing this backwards, but play along with me. Can I honestly tell Hermione that you lent me the money for her presents because I asked you?"

Harry nodded. He looked relieved that he wasn't going to end up in the middle of a fight with Ron. "On one condition," he said, tentatively.

"What is it?" Ron asked.

"Could you also tell her that I lent you the money for a pair of dress robes for tonight?"

"That would be great, but I don't have time to go shopping..." Ron trailed off as he saw Harry's grin. Harry reached into his chest, and pulled out a paper-wrapped parcel.

"So, we're even for now?" Harry asked.

Ron looked at him, not sure whether to thank him or hit him. He settled on thanking him, he could always slug him later. "Alright, Harry, we're even. I'll pay you back by Christmas, don't worry."

Harry gulped. The double meaning had apparently not gone unnoticed. "Great, now let's get down to breakfast, if we haven't missed it yet."

The Hall was decorated beautifully, with more extravagance than it had in any year since Lockhart had left. There were little cherubs flying around, and students were scurrying in fear of being shot with an arrow. Ron didn't see any flying projectiles, though.

They had no sooner sat down than the owls began to come through. Harry had at least a dozen valentines, most of which he handed over to Ginny to read. She looked alternately amused and affronted. Ron thought the whole idea was outdated, but he was no less jealous at the huge valentine, containing a large piece of chocolate, which came from Viktor Krum.

He was cheered, himself, by Hermione's frown at the owls that visited him. Two unsigned Valentines, one of which was obviously from Luna (the hinkypink repellant powder gave it away), and one signed card, from Lavender, arrived for him. He handed them all to her, and tried not to show any pleasure at them, taking a cue from Harry.

The day passed almost in a fog for Ron. None of the Professors seemed to be trying too hard to occupy the students, other than Snape. Professor Snape assigned three feet on an Anosmia potion. Fortunately, it was Friday, so it was unanimously decided not to worry about the assignment until after the Ball and tomorrow's Hogsmeade visit.

The robes that Harry had gotten Ron for the ball were great. Ron suspected that Ginny had helped pick them out, since Harry had never really shown any gift for high fashion. They didn't have any lace, and there was no trace of maroon. By the next day, though, he had forgotten them entirely, although he would never truly forget the way Hermione had looked.

Ron had already known that Hermione was beautiful, but it had been two years since he had seen her this dressed up, and she had changed in that time. Oh, my, had she changed. Her dress robes were a deep blue, and they were molded and cut in a way that skirted the edge of what propriety allowed for Hogwarts students.

Ron didn't remember much else of that night. He felt like he spent the whole time lost in her eyes. They danced for almost an hour, although it was more swaying to the music than true dancing. They talked outside, walking hand in hand. They kissed, more than once, stolen kisses in the garden and the corners of the dance hall, and a beautiful, impassioned kiss at the end of the date. Ron knew there were words to describe the way he felt, but he didn't know how to say them. All he knew was that he wanted to feel this way forever.

They spent most of the rest of the term together, almost sickeningly so. Ron avoided complaining about Harry and Ginny, and managed to avoid any serious fights with Hermione. Dumbledore's Army held regular meetings under Dumbledore's guidance. He was even passing Potions. Everything was perfect.

Until the last week of term.

* * *

Author's Notes:

I don't like saying, "Never" when it comes to stories that aren't complete, but I don't plan on having a true Lavender/Ron/Hermione love triangle -- Lavender might want something more with Ron than what she has, but I don't think Ron, as I've got him written, would act in a way that would keep the triangle alive. On the other hand, that doesn't mean that some of the characters won't think there's something going on. Or that things won't get messed up in a future book. Or that a reviewer's impassioned plea for more screen time for Lavender won't end up paying off. That's all I'm saying.

Also, yes, most of the in-jokes are intentional. If you don't see them, you need to read more fics.

I've skipped over a ton of time, because it didn't matter to the plot – if you want to know how the remaining Quidditch games went, or how much Ron and Hermione smooched between Valentine's and the end of the year, let me know, and I'll write outtakes.

A special thanks to everyone who's found the time to review so far. Your reviews are what keep me writing. Well, that and the fact that my beta is ready to strangle me for leaving her on a cliff-hanger.


	8. Disappearing Potter Tricks

Ronald Weasley and the Armor of Gryffindor

**Chapter Eight : Disappearing Potter Tricks**

"Evil will always triumph over good because good is dumb." -- Spaceballs 

"Harry, you stupid git, wake up!" Ron called, shoving back the curtains to Harry's bed. It was a long-standing rule amongst the teen-aged boys not to open the curtains to someone else's bed under any circumstances. Long-standing since they caught Neville with that book on Dryads, at any rate.

The bed was empty. There was no note. Harry could already have been captured, killed, or expelled. Ron was starting to see things from his Mother's point of view. Unbelievable.

Ron marched out of his dormitory and down to the common room. Most of the students from the Gryffindor House were there, but none of the ones that he was looking for. He walked over to Colin Creevey, and leaned over, whispering to him. "Have you seen Harry?"

"No, I haven't," Colin said loudly, ignoring Ron's frantic gestures to keep it down. "You don't think the monster has him, too?" The students, who up until now had seemed to be calming down, showed a sudden wave of agitation. The thought that Harry Potter might have fallen to a monstrous creation was more than most Gryffindors wanted to bear.

Ron hoped Colin was wrong, but it would scarcely be any worse than the situation now. He had been waiting at the dinner table for Hermione and Ginny to return from a trip to the powder room, after Harry had announced that he'd be skipping dinner and going straight to bed, so he would be rested for the next day's end of term finals. The girls had been gone an awfully long time, before feminine shrieks alerted the Great Hall that something was wrong. Ron had looked for them frantically, but had found no sign of them. Then he had come up here, looking for his friend, the one with the hero thing, and found nothing.

The Professors had already herded all of the remaining students into their common rooms. Ron didn't notice anyone else missing. The word from the other students was that something had smashed through the wetwall in ladies' room on the Second Floor. Whatever it was, it had grabbed several students -- stories ranged from two to a hundred -- before leaving again.

McGonagall reentered the room, looking concerned. Ron walked up to her, and said quickly, "Where's Harry?"

She looked surprised, "Isn't he here?"

"No, Professor," Ron answered, "he's not. He had told me that he was going to bed early, but the curtains were drawn, and he's not there."

McGonagall was visibly disturbed. She asked, "Did you happen to notice if his broom was gone?"

"It was still in the closet in the dormitory, Professor," Ron answered. "Do you think the thing has him?"

"I hope not," she said, "but if it does, there will at least be time to rescue him. From what Hagrid has been able to research on the Arachneataur, it is highly unlikely that it will eat any of its victims until they have had a chance to age for at least one night."

"I will consult with Dumbledore," she pronounced, and she turned and left immediately.

Somehow, Ron failed to feel better. He knew he had to find Harry. While it might be better to wait for the Professors, this seemed like the kind of threat that the Boy Who Lived could handle. There wasn't anything ambiguous - Boy, meet Spider. Boy, kill Spider. Not even a rogue House-Elf could mess that up. Unfortunately, the Boy Who Lived wasn't around.

Ron went back up to the bedroom and started looking through Harry's trunk. The first thing he noticed was a small key, which he'd never noticed before. It was tied to a note, which just said "For Arthur Weasley." Strange, what would Harry be doing with a key with his father's name on it?

He looked closer -- it was a vault key. Probably, he thought, Harry's vault key. He looked some more through the chest. Ron saw three envelopes, one each addressed to him, Hermione, and Ginny. That was definitely not a good sign.

Ron opened his quickly, and skimmed through it. It was a goodbye -- Harry was going after Voldemort, and he was doing it alone. Ron felt personally offended. It was part of his job to be there, trying to prevent Harry from doing anything stupid. How dare Harry go off without him?

Well, no help for it now. The Marauder's Map wasn't in the box, so he couldn't use it to figure out if Harry was still on the grounds. He had to hope that Harry hadn't gotten far, though. Ron knew that Harry could face the spider, and that he would be able to rescue Ginny and Hermione. He always had before. On impulse, as he walked out of the bedroom, Ron grabbed the Beater's Bat that Hermione had given him for his birthday from his chest, and thrust it into his pocket.

Ron wished that Harry had left behind his Invisibility Cloak, but he figured he would just have to slip out somehow. It turned out to be far easier than he thought it would -- with McGonagall gone, no one was keeping an eye on the door. Everyone was far more concerned with the walls, floors, and closets.

As Ron passed the Fat Lady, she commented to him, "Shouldn't you stay inside?"

"I'm looking for Harry," he called back, "I need his help."

"You'll have a hard time finding him," she said.

Ron stopped, and walked back towards her painting. He asked, "What do you know?"

"Merely that Mister Potter left well before dinner. I didn't see him, of course, under the cloak, but he's the only one I know of in Gryffindor who has one."

"Great," Ron said. "I don't suppose you heard him say anything about where he was going?"

"No, but I did hear him say something about a pear," she answered dubiously.

"Thanks, he was probably going to the kitchens. I'll see you later," Ron waved good-bye.

"Good luck!" she called after him, but he was soon out of sight.

He ran down to the passage to the kitchens, and tickled the pear to enter. He heard a loud wailing up ahead, along with a rhythmic thumping. He entered the kitchen to find Dobby smashing his head against the wall, screaming as he did, with Winky standing next to him, looking bewildered and fairly tipsy.

Ron walked up to Dobby, and put his hand on the house-elf's shoulder. He had to kneel to reach that low. "Dobby, stop it. Dobby. DOBBY!"

The third time he heard his name, Dobby stopped, and turned towards Ron. His huge eyes were filled with tears, and there was a huge bruise on his shiny forehead. The house-elf's pointy ears drooped lower than Ron had ever seen them. "Dobby couldn't stop him, sir. Dobby tried to tell him, sir. Dobby is so sad."

"Dobby couldn't help it, I'm sure. I mean, you couldn't help it. Please, just tell me what happened," Ron said.

"Wheezy is so nice, sir, but Dobby knows that it is his fault. Harry Potter came here to get some food for traveling, and made us promise not to tell that he had gone, sir." Dobby's eyes grew even wider. "And now I've told! Dobby must punish himself."

Ron grabbed him, "I already knew he left, so you didn't tell me anything. You don't have to punish yourself this time. I would be interested in knowing when he left and where exactly he was going, if you can tell me without putting your head in the oven."

Dobby looked indignant, "Dobby would never put his head in the oven, sir. That would spoil the nice dinner, sir. If you know he is going, sir, you must know where he has gone to."

"To find He Who Must Not Be Named, I know. But did he say where he was going?"

"No, sir, Harry Potter did not. He said that he would most likely not be back, sir. Dobby could have stopped him, sir, but Dobby couldn't stop Harry Potter, sir, because Dobby couldn't hurt Harry Potter's feelings, sir."

Ron didn't gain much else from his conversation with the house-elf, beyond a headache and a bag of munchies. Harry had left before dinner - that was probably at least two hours ago. He could be anywhere by now, although without his broom, he was probably still close enough for Ron to catch up with him.

Ron thought of one other person he could ask. He snuck out of Hogwarts; not difficult, with all of the Professors concentrating on finding Harry, except for those that were guarding the common rooms. As soon as he was on the grounds, Ron made his way to the one other person that Harry might confide in -- Hagrid.

He rapped on the door, and it opened quickly. Hagrid looked enraged. He had a large staff in his hands, and he had already started to swing it before he checked his swing. "Oh, it's just you Ron. Come in, then."

"What's with the stick?" Ron asked.

"Can't be too careful, with that big spider running around. I'm sorry about Hermione and Ginny, Ron, I just heard from Dumbledore. That thing's no end of trouble. Even Aragog's upset. Durn thing's poaching on his territory, it is. Hardly any meat to find."

"It's in the forest?"

"Sure it is. Got a big cave, it does, just came unsealed last year. Just past where Aragog used to lair."

"You know where it is? You know, and no one's there, helping them out?"

"Shouldn't have said that," Hagrid said, holding his hand to his beard-covered chin. "Just forget I said anything, Ron. I'm sure yer worried about yer friends, but there's naught you can do 'bout them right now. Just let Headmaster Dumbledore take care of everything."

"I can't," Ron replied, "What if he can't do everything? What if he won't? He's more worried about Harry than Hermione, and I don't think he will do anything."

Hagrid looked angry, "You should know better than that, Ron. I know yer hurting, but you can't question Dumbledore."

"Why not?" Ron asked, petulant, although it occurred to him that angering a half-giant might not be the smartest thing to do.

"BECAUSE!" Hagrid shouted back, and then struggled to control himself. "Because you shouldn't ought to talk about things that you don't know about. That's all I'm saying." Hagrid turned his back on Ron, and waited for him to leave.

* * *

A/N: I was going to put a joke in -- have Lavender ask if that was a Beater's Bat in his pocket, etc. I just couldn't work one in, though. You can feel free to supply your own instead.


	9. The Chamber of Bravery

Ronald Weasley and the Armor of Gryffindor

Chapter Nine : The Chamber of Bravery
    
    
    However, never daunted, I will cope with adversity
    in my traditional manner... sulking and nausea.
    -- Tom K. Ryan (Quoted on the internet)
    

He knew that this time, there was a good chance that he was on his own. Harry was still absent, and the Professors were all looking for him. Harry had been right when he'd said that when he went after Voldemort, Ron would have to take care of the problems left behind. Harry had seemed to think they would be confined to Malfoy, however, and had never mentioned a giant half-spider.

Ron was walking through the halls. He wouldn't have admitted to being aimless, but he was definitely destination-impaired. He had some idea of where the Arachneataur was, but he also knew that he wouldn't be able to fight it on his own. He needed someone else to help him. Someone, or something, that could give him a chance against the creature. 

He did have one half thought. Well, he had two, but "There's nothing I can do" wasn't terribly comforting. He wondered about the legend of Gryffindor's secret chamber, and the Armor that was there. Sure, a giant half-spider wasn't exactly a Muggle weapon, but it wasn't quite an Unforgivable curse, either.

Unfortunately, he didn't have any idea where the Chamber might be, and Hermione wasn't available to ask. He wondered who, apart from the Professors, might have an idea. He could always try the library, if nothing else, although anything useful would probably be in the Restricted Section.

Ron walked towards the library anyway. He hoped that Madam Pince didn't send him back to his dormitory -- he was quite sure that he wasn't supposed to be out and about, when all of the other students were huddled in their Common Rooms.

Well, almost all of the other students. Draco Malfoy stood by the door of the library, trying to get it to open. The usual charms didn't seem to be working. Malfoy hadn't said anything to indicate that he'd heard Ron approach. Ron put his hand on Draco's shoulder, and Draco jumped almost a foot in the air.

"What do you want," Malfoy snapped at him. "Looking for handouts?"

"No, Malfoy, I'm looking for clues. Not from you, of course, I've never seen anyone quite as lacking in clues than a Malfoy."

"Funny," Malfoy responded, "but there's no audience here. Why don't you just leave me alone?"

"Leave YOU alone," Ron replied. "You're the one that has nothing better to do than make my life miserable."

"If that's the way you see it, Weasley, I won't argue. I didn't start it, this time, though."

Ron stepped back from him, out of his face. "Sorry, I guess I'm just on edge."

Malfoy stared at him. "Did you just apologize to me, Weasley?"

Ron smirked, "Like you said, there's no audience. I'd still like to know what you're looking for, though."

Draco got a sort of haunted expression, "There's a book I need, in the Restricted Section. Madam Pince wouldn't let me check it out, and I couldn't convince anyone that it was important."

"What about Snape?" Ron asked, "wouldn't he sign a request for you?"

"No," Malfoy shook his head, "He asks too many questions." 

"Well, it looks like she locked it up tightly this time," Ron said, "Not like the old days."

"I'm afraid to ask," Draco said, "but you don't know another way in there, do you?"

"No," Ron shook his head, "but that doesn't mean there isn't one. Look, I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got to save Hermione and Ginny."

"Ahh, yes, the Gryffindor ethic. Care about anyone on your own side, forget anyone else."

Ron looked him in the eye, "What's wrong, Malfoy?"

"Nothing I can tell you about, Weasley," Draco said bitterly.

"Well, forget I asked, then," Ron replied, and walked off. He felt slightly guilty for not pressing more, but when it came to a choice between Hermione and Malfoy, it wasn't even worth talking about.

Ron was on his way down to the Great Hall, when he ran into Valentin Vrag, not quite literally. Vrag was coming from the opposite direction, from the stairs up to one of the Astronomy Towers.

"Aah, Mister Weasley, I should have known I would find you out of your room," Valentin said, his voice expansive. He had a sad look on his face, but seemed to be trying for a jovial tone.

"I'm surprised to see you out, Mister Vrag," Ron said, "aren't you afraid of being eaten by the Arachneataur?"

"No, not especially," Vrag said, "I am just enjoying a study of the architecture of Hogwarts. You know, the founders each left their personal touches on this place. It is amusing, perhaps, that Slytherin left his touch in the plumbing and the dungeons, while Gryffindor put his touch on the..." Vrag trailed off, and looked horrified. He looked like had said something that he hadn't meant to say.

"Yes, Mister Vrag," Ron prodded. This could be the hint he needed. "What did Godric Gryffindor design?"

"The doors, I think," Vrag said, but his diffident tone aside, Ron was sure he was covering up something. "Good evening, Mister Weasley, and be careful. You don't want to be eaten by the spider, I'm sure."

Ron looked around nervously, but didn't leave. He waited until Vrag left, thinking. Slytherin designed the dungeons, and that was where the Slytherin dorms were found. Gryffindor had a tower, and Vrag was on his way from one of the Astronomy towers... could that be it? Godric Gryffindor had a thing for large, prominent, towers? He would have guessed that was more of a Slytherin trait, but what did he know.

An hour later, Ron stood in the tallest Astronomy Tower, alone. He had already checked all of the lower rooms, and he didn't think anything would have been hidden on the top. This place was empty, and he couldn't see where anyone would even put an entrance to another room.

He had failed. He closed his eyes, thinking of Hermione. A tear escaped from one of his eyes, but he resisted the urge to wipe it away. Somehow, standing here alone, he wasn't as concerned about his manhood as about his friends. About Hermione. "I don't know what to do," he whispered into the room. "There's no way I can face the monster without some help, and there's no help to be found."

Ron felt a sort of pregnant feeling in the air, a heaviness, as if the room itself was waiting for something. He backed towards the door, but something clenched at his heart. He needed to say something more, he realized, before he would be able to leave.

"Even if I can't find any help, I'll try," he said, "I can't just leave her. I can't miss the chance to tell her... that I love her."

One of the windows slowly opened. There was a grinding sound, and running to the window, Ron saw a ledge smoothly sliding out from the wall outside, extending ten feet out. Not knowing what else to do, he walked out onto the ledge.

When he had reached the end, he heard a slamming behind him. The window had closed. Then there was a horrific grinding sound, and the ledge started to plummet straight down, towards the earth, sliding along the side of the tower.

Ron couldn't move. His feet felt glued to the stone as it headed towards the earth, straight between a pair of huge flying buttresses. Just before he thought sure that it would hit, there was another grinding sound, and he saw the ground beneath him split, fissuring and providing a space just big enough for his stone platform to slide down and into the ground.

The ceiling slammed shut above him as the ledge continued it's descent. Suddenly, it stopped. He swayed, but Ron didn't feel like he had just fallen from the top of the Astronomy tower to a point underground. It was pitch black. Ron lit his wand, and almost wished he hadn't.

Ahead of him, a stone path continued from the base of the ledge across a green bubbling liquid. The room smelled like rotten eggs, and Ron could already feel the inside of his nose starting to burn from the rancid quality of the air. He coughed slightly. Standing there didn't seem to be a good idea.

Ron stepped out onto the path. The stone shuddered slightly under him, and then started to move downwards. He stepped quickly onto the next, and felt it begin to give way. He almost ran across the room, stepping quickly under a white archway on the other side. The stones behind him had all sunk beneath the surface of the liquid. There was a hissing sound and a whiff of smoke from where they had been.

"Bloody 'ell," Ron swore, but it didn't make him feel better. He looked back at the room on the other side of the archway.

It was shaped like an oval, and furnished entirely with red stone, lit only by Ron's wand. The stone had veins of gold running through it. There was a doorway on the other side, but it was blocked by a thin layer of red crystal. Ron could see a dim light coming through the red crystal, but he didn't put his wand out. He wanted every scrap of light he could get to see what was in here.

There were a dozen small black blocks on the floor. As Ron watched they started to wiggle, and then grow. They had started as cube shapes, but as he watched, they were starting to grow spindly little legs, and nasty pointed teeth. They were also getting bigger - from barely a foot on a side, they had already grown to four feet tall.

Ron decided that he better not wait. He ran through the room, avoiding the blocks as he moved towards the far side. He rammed into the crystal on the far side, but it didn't move.

Ron looked carefully at the crystal, and found a key hold. "_Alohomora_," he commanded. It still didn't move. Ron turned back, and saw that the black creatures had started to merge. Where they touched, they seemed to ooze together. The merged creatures quickly became a single huge spider in place of many small creatures.

As the last black blob became part of the thing, nearly 12' tall, Ron saw runes begin to shine on the edge of the wall. He looked at them closely, squinting. It took him a minute to realize that they weren't some mystic symbols, they were just much older Greek letters than he was used to.

Ron couldn't translate well -- he recognized the word for "Die", the word for "Brave", and the name "Gryffindor," and that was about it. Even if his Greek had been better, the large black spider would have taken his mind off it.

The spider had moved to the side of the room. There was a clear path back to the entryway, and Ron could see that the stepping-stones had risen again. He could probably make it out, if he needed to. Since there was no obvious way through the crystal, he might just have to.

The black spider seemed to hiss, drawing Ron's attention back to it. He saw something shiny glistening between its fangs, and a moment's study revealed it as the end of a key. This was some sort of sick test, he thought, and he would have to get the key to enter the room. Ron wasn't sure how he was going to do that.

He had a choice, it appeared, and he could either face the spider and get the key, or leave without the armor. Not much of a choice. Soonest started, soonest ended, he thought, and Ron ran straight for the spider. It reacted sluggishly, turning its mouth towards him, but he wasn't going for its mouth. Ron dove under the spider, but as he went, he reached up, through the bottom of the spider's head, forcefully shoving his hand through its gooey flesh. His hand closed around the key, and he rolled out the other side with it.

By the time he looked back, the spider had already started falling apart, back into blocks. Ron walked up to the door and put the key into it -- it slid into the doorway, and the crystal seemed to melt into the surrounding doorway.

On the other side was a tall wooden skeleton, draped in beautiful armor. The main part of the armor was made up of gold-tinged overlapping scales, each shaped like a oak leaf, but there were also arm and leg-greaves, copper tinged with engraved gryphons etched into them. There was a small helmet, really only a skullcap, and a pair of tall maroon leather boots. Maroon -- well, his mother had always said that it was his color.

Ron hesitated. He had fought to get the armor. He was convinced that without it, he didn't stand a chance against the Arachneataur, although he would be willing to die trying. He was equally convinced that if he put the armor on, he would die at tomorrow's first light. Either way, he was dead. The only difference was whether he died in vain. If he got Hermione out, maybe she would think of some way to save him -- but even if she didn't, at least he would have a chance to see her again before dawn.

Ron pulled his outer robe off. He hoped his shirt and trousers would be enough cushioning to wear under the armor, because he didn't have time to find something proper. He yanked the armor on. The shirt fit well, but he had trouble with the greaves -- they were buckled on in back, and it was hard for him to buckle by himself. He was committed now, though, and he couldn't spare time to find someone to help him put them on.

He tossed his outer robe back over the armor. He figured that while the skullcap would be obvious, there was no reason to stand out more than he needed to. Ron walked confidently back to the room with the stepping-stones. He walked across them -- the liquid reached up and lapped his feet, but it didn't seem to affect the boots. He was glad that he'd put on the armor, as he wasn't sure if he could have gone through here otherwise.

When he reached the other side, he stepped up onto the ledge. It shuddered, and then moved towards the ceiling, which ripped apart. Then it stopped, at ground level. Ron stepped off of it, and watched as the ledge ascended back towards the top of the Astronomy tower, before sliding back into the wall.

Well, there was no reason to delay now. He had a wand, a Bat, and a full bag of food. It was at least nine hours before dawn. Ron took a deep breath, and ran into the woods.

* * *

A/N: No, it's no coincidence that it was a spider. Think of it as a sort of concentrated Boggart-stuff -- for Ron, it was destined to be a spider.

On referring to the Astronomy towers, above - from book one, "let alone being up the tallest astronomy tower." You could read it a few different ways, but just in case, I'm assuming there's more than one. It doesn't really matter for the story, though.

I use a program called fortune to provide quotes of the day, some of which make it into my stories as the chapter-opening quotes. Fortune has a bunch of quotes of its own, but I also use quotes from elsewhere on the web. Today's chapter opening quote comes from Eclipse's web page of quotes.


	10. It's called the Forbidden Forest, right?

Ronald Weasley and the Armor of Gryffindor

Chapter Ten: It's called the "Forbidden" Forest, right?
    
    
    He who hesitates, meditates in the horizontal position.
    -- Edmund K. Parker
    

Ron cursed as he tried to hurry through the woods. This armor was heavy, and whatever it was supposed to do for him, it wouldn't matter if he couldn't catch up with the Arachneataur. It also wouldn't matter if he dropped dead any minute, but that wasn't something he could be too concerned with right now.

If Ginny died, his Mother would never forgive him. He felt guilty for thinking about it that way, but it seemed like the ultimate failure to him. Well, almost the ultimate failure.

If Hermione died, he might as well die, too. It wasn't a matter of not being forgiven. Without her, he could never be complete again. She didn't know how much she meant to him, and if she died not knowing, it would be his fault.

When he and Harry had looked in the Mirror of Erised, back in their first year, he had seen a number of his dreams for the future. He had never thought that any of them would become reality, but almost all of them had. He had won Quidditch matches for Gryffindor, he was the Captain of the team, and, if he didn't make Head Boy next year, he had at least been a Prefect. His parents trusted him, and the Professors didn't treat him as just another Weasley any more. Even Snape singled him out for his own punishment, not a hand down from his older brothers.

If he died now -- if the Armor took his life and power at dawn -- he could honestly say that he'd fulfilled his childhood dreams. He was his own person, and he'd stood on his own. Still, he wasn't ready to die. He couldn't, not until she'd forgiven him for his faults, not until he'd told her what she meant to him. Not until he had become a person that she could care about too.

If he died now, it would be too soon. But he would rather have that happen than lose either of the girls.

Ron could see the cavern up ahead. It was where Hagrid had said it would be. Ron had no doubts that it was the right place - the thirty foot wide opening webbed with sticky black strands was a dead giveaway. Ron saw that there were large cocoon-like bundles of webbing hanging from the top. He hoped that they didn't contain anyone he knew.

He flew through a hole in the webbing, landing on the ground inside. The cavern was dark and moist, and it smelled like week-old bread, or the Slytherin dungeons.

He stepped forward, and accidentally kicked something. He heard it bump against the far wall, and then rattled loudly with a metallic sound as it bounced. He looked down at what he'd stepped on, and shivered. It appeared that he'd accidentally kicked the helmet off of a knight, but the rest of the armor was still there. It wasn't as nice as his, he thought proudly, and in fact what was left was mostly rust, with a few well-aged bones showing through on the arms.

His eyes started to adjust to the room. He saw twisting passages leaving from the main chamber in different directions, and he saw the remains of several other visitors to the chamber. The most recent turned his stomach; it was a dog, not dead more than a few months. It probably belonged to the missing archaeologist.

Ron picked a passage at random. All of the passages looked alike, and he couldn't see a reason to take one over another. The passage was dark. He waved his wand, whispering "_Lumos._" A dim light appeared around his wand, illuminating the narrow passageway.

The passage joined with another, then split again. Ron wandered for what felt like hours without seeing the Arachneataur, Hermione, or even the way out. He came upon a few wider chambers, some of which showed that they had been occupied at one time, and some of which showed that the Arachneataur had, at one point, been there.

In one such passage, he found the Japanese tourists that Hermione had mentioned. One had died with his wand in his left hand and his camera in his right, although the camera was so far rotted that Ron didn't think there was any point in looking at it. The other was wearing a suit of intact samurai armor, carrying both a wand and a pristine sword. It looked like they had expected trouble, but hadn't managed to survive it.

"What am I doing here," Ron whispered under his breath. "I'm just a teenager. What can I do against a thing like this?"

He shook his head. Maybe Harry would be back by now. If the Professors would work together, maybe they could fight back this thing. He just needed to find his way out.

Ron didn't have any more idea of how to find his way out than he did how to find the Arachneataur, and he passed the tourist and samurai twice more in the next hour.

As he passed the samurai again, Ron reached down and picked up the sword. He felt squeamish about removing something from the hands of a corpse, but he didn't think it would mind too much. He held it in his left hand, the familiar Beater's Bat in his right, and his lit wand between his teeth.

Ron was breathing hard now, a sign of the exertion. He didn't think that there was much time before the sun came up. If he didn't get to the Arachneataur before then, he'd probably end up next to everyone else.

Ron started to move more quickly, less cautiously. The sound of his footsteps echoed through the hallways, and he had to stop repeatedly to make sure that it was just him. He wondered if he had missed the Arachneataur, or if Hagrid had been wrong about its lair. Sure, there were corpses here, but that didn't mean that it hadn't moved on.

Ron turned a corner, and instantly realized that he hadn't been in this room before. The sight of Mrs. Norris, or what was left of her, lying in the center of the room, half wrapped in spider silk, was enough to clue him in to that. Her wounds were ghastly.

Ron looked up. There were half a dozen shapes hanging from the ceiling, each the size of a person. All of them were totally wrapped in spider silk. Ron crouched to put the sword down gently on the ground, so he could hold his wand. As he lay it on the ground, he saw something moving in the sword. He stared at it, and then realized it was something reflected in the metal.

Ron rolled forward, tumbling on the rough ground, barely missing Mrs. Norris' corpse. Something big moved behind him. As he came to his feet, Ron got his first glimpse of the Arachneataur.

To begin with, his impression was that it was huge. Its legs were spindly, but there were eight of them, and they were tipped with saw blades, which more than made up for their lack of width. Its lower body was bigger than most horses, and its human-shaped upper torso was almost as big as Hagrid's. The skin on the almost human part of it was hairless and gray colored, matching the light fuzz that covered the purely spider parts of it.

Ron might have tried reasoning with it, or at least taunting it a little, but its head didn't bear much resemblance to humanity. While it was almost human shaped, its ears were the size of a Knut. Its eyes were purely black orbs, and they were set further apart than he would have expected.

The most disturbing features were its jaws. It had four mandibles sticking out of its mouth, and Ron saw rows of teeth inside. It looked neither spider like nor human, it was just purely disturbing. The mandibles looked like they were covered by something black and slippery, which he guessed might be venom. Whether or not it was, he didn't want to find out first hand.

While he was studying it, it began to move. It was almost silent, except for the whisper of air around it as it went. It reached out with large hands, which ended in thick claws, and tried to grab for him.

Ron swung his Bat with all his might, and the Arachneataur let out an awful keening as Ron connected with one of its hands. There was a loud smacking sound at the contact, and he felt a sort of sickly crunch.

Unfortunately, Ron had only parried one of the two claws. The other connected soundly with Ron's side, knocking him to the floor. The Armor stopped the sharp points of the claws from penetrating, but the force was still strong enough to force the breath clean out of Ron.

Ron tried to regain his momentum, but the Arachneataur was already moving on top of him. Its torso was over the lower half of his body, and it was bending over, its jaws rapidly approaching his neck. Drips of venom from its mouth had fallen on his robes, and there was a hiss as they burned through, but they didn't seem to be coming through the armor. A glint of something caught Ron's eye. In the tumbling and parrying, he had managed to get back to the sword.

Ron reached an arm out, his fingertips barely brushing the sword. The Arachneataur had a leg on his other arm, now, so his bat was useless. If he could just reach the sword, he might have a chance, he thought.

With a slap, the hilt of the sword slid into his hand. He wasn't sure if he'd summoned it or it had moved towards him, but either way, he had something sharp in a position to give the Arachenataur a world of hurt. He swung it, and it connected with one of the half-spider's legs with a soft, wet sound. It gave a keening again, and reared back. Ron took the opportunity to bring the sword over to his other side, hitting at the leg that held down his arm. As it connected, the half-spider lifted weight off that arm, and Ron was able to pull it out from underneath. Quickly, he did a backwards somersault, and stood before the half-spider again. He felt like so far, he was doing fairly well. After all, he'd managed to wound two of its legs, and it really hadn't done anything to him yet.

It let out a roar, and lifted its wounded legs into the air. Ron saw the wounds glowing. The ichor that had been oozing out bubbled, dried, and flaked off in the space of six seconds, leaving behind no trace that anything had wounded the Arachneataur. Everything he'd just done was completely healed. It roared again, looked straight at Ron, and charged.

Charging he could deal with. Ron focused all his attention on its head, which was slightly larger than a Bludger, but much slower. As it came closer, he swung the Bat with his right hand, connecting solidly with its skull. There was a splintering sound. The Bat broke in his hand, but not before it had done its job -- there was Arachneataur stuff flying everywhere. Ron had smashed the skull completely. He followed through with his left arm, swinging the sword back into the neck, severing the half-spider's head.

"Heal this," he said, and then wished he hadn't. Challenging the big, evil, hopefully dead thing probably wasn't a good idea. He waited a few more seconds to make sure it wasn't going to get back up, then discarded the splinters of his Bat, and pulled out his wand. He wasn't taking any chances. "_Incendio_," he cried, and soon the entire body was in flames.

Ron carefully used a severing charm to cut the bodies down from the ceiling, and levitated them to the ground. Four of them were ancient, old enough that they didn't even turn his stomach, at least not compared to poor Mrs. Norris. The other two, though, were still alive, if barely. Ron removed the spider silk from around Hermione and Ginny, and looked to see that they were still breathing. He couldn't believe that he had been so lucky. Ron charmed the bodies to lift them up, and pulled them both out of the caves. It only took him about a half hour to find the way out, and he only passed the samurai twice. The second time, he left him his sword.

* * *

A/N: There are a number of inside jokes here, mostly references to NetHack or the other games in its family. If you don't know what NetHack is, don't tell me. I feel old enough already.


	11. Back to the Castle

Ronald Weasley and the Armor of Gryffindor

**Chapter Eleven : Back to the Castle**
    
    
    You speak of courage. Obviously you do not know the
    difference between courage and foolhardiness. Always
    it is the brave ones who die, the soldiers.
    -- Kor, the Klingon Commander, "Errand of Mercy", stardate 3201.7
    

Ron, exhausted, shoved the main door to Hogwarts open. The floating, unconscious bodies of Hermione and Ginny preceded him into the entranceway. As he stepped into the entrance, he heard a gasp from inside. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the lighting, but when they had, he could see that he was not alone. A number of the Hogwarts Professors were standing there, as was Harry.

"Harry!" Ron shouted.

"Hullo, Ron," Harry said. He was staring at Ginny. "Is she...is she..." Harry couldn't say it.

"She's alive," Ron confirmed. Professor McGonagall was already in the process of bending over her. "I think she needs Madam Pomfrey to look over her, though." Ron coughed slightly. The fatigue of the evening, and what he had done to himself by pushing himself to the limits, were starting to show.

"I most certainly agree," McGonagall said. "I think that Miss Weasley may make a full recovery, but she will need attention from Madam Pomfrey immediately. I can take care of bringing them from here, Mister Weasley. You should return to your dormitory and get yourself cleaned off. You look like a mess."

Ron nodded impatiently, "What about Hermione?"

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips. "I'm not sure, Mister Weasley. But I'm certain that Madam Pomfrey will do everything she can. Now, go!"

Ron set the two girls down gently, and Professor McGonagall waved her wand and lifted them back up, swiftly bringing them towards the hospital ward. "Take Mister Potter with you," she said, with an irritated sniff, "and see if you can't talk more sense into him."

Ron and Harry both walked towards the Gryffindor Dormitories. Ron was trying to hurry up -- he hadn't mentioned it to Professor McGonagall, but he was well aware of the coming sunrise. Harry seemed to be dragging his footsteps, however.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Ron rasped.

"I just hate going back, is all. Sort of defeated," Harry said.

Ron laughed, "Defeated? You're still alive, aren't you?"

"Well, yes. Snape captured me and brought me back before I could find Voldemort." Ron winced at the name, as always. "I was close, though, I can feel it."

"I'm sure the Dark Lord was just shaking in his boots," Ron said, trying not to be entirely sarcastic. "You might want to hold off on talking about it right now, though. I see Malfoy up ahead."

Draco was pacing in one of the hallways. He looked up with surprise at Ron and Harry. "So, you're back. I thought you were off saving the Mudblood. What happened, did you fall in a sewer?"

Ron hadn't realized the figure he cut. His Bat was gone, as was the samurai sword, and the golden tinged armor was hidden by both his dark robes and the accumulated remains of the Arachneataur. 

"Hermione's alright, Malfoy," Harry said. "Thanks to Ron."

"Really," Draco drawled, looking at Ron. "What did you do, Weasley? Hold the door for Potter?"

"No," Ron said, looking Draco in the eye. He didn't feel like he was bantering now. He figured he was going to die soon, and that was enough to make him deadly serious. "I crushed the skull of the Dark Lord's plaything."

"You're not serious," Malfoy breathed.

"Entirely," Ron answered, and then he grinned. He couldn't pass up one last chance to pull Draco's chain. He reached a finger up to his chest, and pulled off a gooey sample of monster. "Want some?"

"No, thanks," Malfoy replied. "I think I have somewhere else to be. Have a good night." The Slytherin almost ran down the stairs.

"Good going, Ron," Harry said. "I can't believe how steady you were when you said that. I think he actually believed it."

"Why shouldn't he?" Ron asked. "It's the truth."

"You're kidding. You mean you actually... that gunk on you is... from the spider-thing?"

"Uh-huh," Ron nodded his head. "Which is one reason I would really like to get a shower."

"I won't hold you up," Harry said, and he started almost running for the dormitory. Ron walked quickly, as well. As they approached the Dormitory, Harry tilted his head. "It just occurred to me, what do you think Malfoy was doing out of bounds? Shouldn't he have been in his classroom?"

"I hadn't thought about it," Ron answered. "Maybe you can ask him tomorrow."

"Shouldn't that be a job for a Prefect?" Harry joked.

Ron shrugged, "Maybe, but I don't think I'll be able to do it."

"Why not?" Harry asked.

Ron decided not to explain right now. Harry would probably figure it out soon enough.

Ron tossed his gruesome robe into the laundry hamper. He walked into the shower carrying the armor -- if it could survive a millennium underground, he didn't think one shower would tarnish it. After showering, he put it back on, over a set of clean exercise clothes. Harry was waiting anxiously for him. "I just realized why you were so quiet. Should you be wearing the armor?"

Ron yawned, "I don't think it matters any more. It's almost dawn, anyway." 

"How can you be so calm?" Harry almost shouted. "It's your life we're talking about! We need to talk to Dumbledore, or Madam Pomfrey, or someone -- there has to be some way to save you. You can't die." Harry said the last words quietly, and Ron could see tears in the corners of his eyes.

"It doesn't matter," Ron said, "I knew what I was doing. Just tell Hermione something for me, alright?"

"Tell her yourself," Harry said, "I'm not letting you give up. Let's see Dumbledore -- he'll know something to do, I'm sure of it."

"Alright, Harry. I don't mind trying, but if it doesn't work, I just want you to make sure that she knows..." Harry had already marched off. Ron sighed, and took off after him. Harry was almost flying down the hallway. He'd have to hope that Dumbledore could do something, or at least that the Headmaster would give him a quill to write a last note to Hermione.

Ron was entirely too composed about the whole idea of death, he realized. It probably wasn't real to him yet. He'd faced death too many times to believe that this was really it, even though he had believed that he would inevitably die as a result of putting on the armor. At some point, he'd probably start to panic, but he hadn't reached that point yet.

As Ron was hurrying after Harry towards Dumbledore's office, he heard a horrible whining. He probably shouldn't take time for it, he knew, but that didn't stop him. He'd catch up with Harry in a minute.

Ron jogged down the corridor, and looked into the room that was originating the wailing -- which he realized was actually someone's idea of singing, not actually crying. It was coming from one of the guest quarters. Ron looked around the corner. He saw Valentin Vrag hurriedly packing, while singing something that was either a funeral dirge or Bulgarian pop music.

"Going somewhere, Vrag?"

"Ahh, Mister Weasley. You are wearing the Armor! I suppose you know what fate awaits you."

"Of course," Ron said, "but it was worth it. How did you know about the Armor?"

"I heard about it on my Grandvater's knee," Valentin said, "when you were not yet born. I had hoped, myself, to see it one day, and now I have."

"So, where are you going?"

"Your semester is almost over, Mister Weasley. I feel that I have seen all that I need to see."

Ron saw a canister poking out of his bag, labeled in a foreign tongue. The label pictured a spider, with a circle around it and a line through it. "You brought that with you from Bulgaria?"

"Yes, Mister Weasley, I did."

"But that was before we'd heard of the Arachneataur. How did you know you would need it? What did you have to do with the Spider?" Ron hadn't moved towards Vrag, but he didn't need to move to be intimidating.

"It probably does no harm to tell you," Vrag said. He nodded his head towards the window. The first signs of false dawn were appearing. Ron didn't have much time left, but he waved his hand at Valentin Vrag to continue.

"I had heard from an old friend that the Arachneataur was to be loosed on the campus this year. I heard after I had already made my own arrangements, so it was too late for me to back out without drawing suspicion. The spider was intended to help even the score, by eliminating some of Mister Potter's friends. That is why it struck at you, first, and at your sister and friend."

"What about Mrs. Norris?"

Vrag shrugged, "I believe that she was just a snack."

"Why hadn't we seen the Arachneataur before?"

"It was confined in its cavern, until the Heir of Slytherin found the words to open it."

Ron had just about all the answers now, but the false dawn was rapidly giving way to the real one. He had, he judged, about a half hour until true dawn arrived. "Stay here," he commanded. "I'll get Dumbledore."

"Certainly, Mister Weasley," Vrag said, but he turned back to his suitcase, and started packing again. "You had better hurry," the Bulgarian admonished.

Ron turned, and ran for Dumbledore's office, catching up with Harry just outside the door. "Jellied Spam," Harry said, having been trusted with the password. He turned to Ron. "Where were you?"

"Confronting Vrag," he said, "he knew about the spider, but he wasn't behind it. Look, Harry, I've got less than a half an hour left. You've got to tell Hermione..."

"Later," Harry said, impatiently. "We've got to get to the Headmaster's Office."

He stepped onto the stairs, and Ron followed. Ron wondered if there was a chance that he could come back as a ghost - at least then, maybe he could get a message to Hermione.


	12. The Heir of Gryffindor

Ronald Weasley and the Armor of Gryffindor

**Chapter Twelve : The Heir of Gryffindor**
    
    
    Nature abhors a hero. For one thing, he violates the law
    of conservation of energy. For another, how can it be the
    survival of the fittest when the fittest keeps putting
    himself in situations where he is most likely to be creamed?
    -- Solomon Short
    

The Headmaster's Office looked the same as it always had. Fawkes trilled quietly from his perch, delighted to see Harry once again, although he was more concerned with keeping Ron from falling out of his seat. A Pensieve gleamed from inside a cabinet, and pictures snored, almost in tune with one another. Ron wasn't sure what to feel - elation, at having saved his sister's life, or fear, at perhaps having ended his own.

Dumbledore entered the room quietly, still in a dressing gown. "So, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter. Have you come to see me about the House Points? The teachers are beginning to complain - they fear that Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw may try to resort to violence, in order to emulate your annual pattern."

"No, Headmaster! I mean, we're not here for points. Anyway, Slytherin's behind right now, and that's all that matters," Ron said, starting to babble. "No, we're here because, well..."

"The Armor, of course. Quite dashing, indeed. It looks almost like you were meant to wear it. In fact, I suggest that you do keep it. I'm certain that Miss Granger will approve of the way it looks."

"She will? I can? It does? I mean, I was? But I thought that Harry... I mean, we all know what he's meant to do, and Hermione said she found out about the Potters, that they were, well, Godric and all."

There was a look of sadness in Dumbledore's eye. "Mr. Weasley, I cannot believe you of all people would fall victim to such an error."

Ron looked confused. "But, I thought you said I could keep it? I mean, what did I do this time?"

Dumbledore sighed, "You've made a grave error, an error that I might have expected from a Slytherin."

Ron was apoplectic. "What? I mean... I wasn't trying to get the Armor for myself, or trying to be sneaky, or anything. I didn't know that the Armor would work or anything... I just figured, there was no way that Harry could get to it in time. I mean, I know he's the Heir. Why didn't... I mean, why am I?"

"Still alive?" The Headmaster spoke up. "Your error was not putting on the Armor -- your error was in thinking that Mr. Potter was the Heir."

Harry spoke up, "Does that mean that I'm not descended from Godric Gryffindor?"

"No, Harry, it doesn't mean that. I am no more certain of the ancestry of the Potters than any other scholar. But you are thinking in the wrong terms. Remember, Harry, what I told you, when you asked if perhaps you were in the wrong house?"

Harry didn't look like he understood, but he remembered Dumbledore's words. "You told me that I was a Gryffindor because I chose to be."

"That's right, Harry. The preoccupation with a wizard's parents was always a characteristic of Salazar Slytherin. Godric Gryffindor would never have made something that depended on blood. Mr. Weasley, you are Godric Gryffindor's heir. Not because you are related to him by blood - although it might explain a few things -- but because you chose to save your friends, even at the risk of your own life. Had circumstances tonight been different, I imagine that Mister Potter could have easily been the heir, at least so far as the armor was concerned. Even Miss Weasley or Miss Granger could have qualified, although I imagine that they would have had difficulty wearing the armor."

Ron nodded his head, finding it difficult to keep it erect. The exhaustion of the past days had taken its toll, and as he now felt sure that he was not going to drop dead in the next few moments, he felt the adrenaline high begin to vanish. Harry, picking up on the cue, grabbed him under his arm, and helped him out of the chair. "Come on, Ron, let's check on Ginny."

"One more thing," Ron said, "Why did the Chamber of Bravery open for me? I can't have been the first person to say something brave in a room in the Astronomy Tower."

"Hardly," Albus agreed, "In fact, I caught Mister Vrag in the tower the other day, saying the most alarming things. I made him go to Madame Pomfrey's immediately. No, it wasn't the words alone that made the room open; it was also the emotion behind it. I'm not sure if Harry ever told you of the enchantment I had put on the Mirror of Erised?" Ron nodded, and the Headmaster continued, "Well, there was something similar in place there. Along with Bravery, the one looking for the Chamber would need a certain amount of desperation, and, dare I say it, love. They would also need to know that the Chamber existed, which I believe fairly few people have ever known. Now, I believe that it is time for the young hero to see to the people he has rescued."

Ron stood up. He noticed a look on Harry's face, a look that quickly vanished, but that for a moment looked like fury. A look that, unless Ron was mistaken, was aimed at the Headmaster. It was gone in an instant, though, and Ron couldn't keep focused enough to ask Harry what it was about, as he stumbled along to see Hermione and Ginny.

*~*~*

Hermione lay there on the bed. Her face looked drawn, and there was a streak of white in her hair. She looked like she had lost at least ten pounds in the last day.

Ron sat on the edge of her bed, holding her hand. She was so pale, so delicate. He was afraid that she would break if he held her, but he wanted nothing so much as to grab her in his arms and never let her go. He heard people entering the room, but he couldn't take his eyes off her face, until he heard the strangled cry from behind him. He turned around, and he met the eyes of the Grangers.

Ron hadn't seen Hermione's parents since before his second year. He had grown since then, and they had grown older. They both looked frightened, with Professor McGonagall gently guiding them into the room. "There, there," she said, as if she was talking to children, "it looks worse than it is."

Mrs. Granger had her daughter's hair, but it was a dull gray color. She was overcome with emotion, her body shaking. Mister Granger had his arm around her, and was holding her. His face showed no emotion, except deep in his eyes, which Ron could see were filled with pain and anger.

"Are you sure there's nothing more that could be done for them," Mister Granger asked forcefully. "The place where Arthur Weasley was taken, when he was wounded... would they be able to do more?" 

"No," Professor McGonagall said, "Madam Pomfrey knows what she is doing with her patients. She fully expects Hermione to wake up in the next few days."

"Will she still be able to sit for her exams?" Hermione's father asked. It seemed cold-hearted of him to be concerned about things like that at a time like this. Ron was going to say something, but he saw Mister Granger trembling. Ron realized that Hermione's father felt like he had to say something, to feel like he still had some control over the situation. He was asking about something trivial precisely because he was so worried.

"She probably could have sat for them months ago," Ron said, inserting himself into the conversation. "I'm sure that when she wakes up, she'll probably grab a pen and start writing for them before she says hullo."

"Ron, isn't it?" Mrs. Granger asked cautiously. "We met a few years ago, but I don't know if you remember."

"Of course I do," Ron said. "I'm glad you were able to come here. After meeting my father, I was afraid you wouldn't want to have anything to do with the wizarding world." He gave a little self-deprecating laugh.

"I understand we have you to thank for saving my daughter," Mister Granger said.

"Yes, sir," Ron answered, "I suppose so. I wish I could have gotten to her sooner, though."

"No one is blaming you, Mister Weasley," Professor McGonagall said. "Quite the opposite, in fact. While we wish that you would have involved the teaching staff a little more in your decision, I couldn't be more proud of any of my students right now."

A glint of the rising sun finally made its way through the window. It shone on the golden armor that Ron still wore, illuminating each scale in a play of iridescence. Ron stopped breathing for a moment, waiting for the end to come in spite of Dumbledore's assurances, and in spite of the fact that dawn had actually been a few moments ago.

The end didn't come, though. He breathed again. He had survived, and so had his friends, he hoped. Professor McGonagall left to tend to some of her duties, and Ron ended up conversing with the Grangers for several hours. They talked more over the next three days, and they were all in Hermione's room together when her eyes finally opened. She did not, as Ron had joked, immediately grab her quill and ask for her copy of the exams. First, she hugged Ron and each of her parents. It was only after that, that she asked about exams.


	13. The Great Hall

Ronald Weasley and the Armor of Gryffindor

**Chapter Thirteen : The Great Hall**
    
    
    A good question is never answered. It is not a bolt to be
    tightened into place but a seed to be planted and to bear
    more seed toward the hope of greening the landscape of idea.
    -- John Ciardi
    

Ron ran down the stairs towards the Great Hall, worried that he was going to miss the Leaving Feast. He had taken some extra time to put wards around the Armor of Gryffindor, worried about its safety on the train ride back, and now he was running late.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Mister Weasley," came Professor Kwikspell's voice from behind him, "for running in the hallways."

Ron skidded to a stop and turned around, his eyes flaring. "What is your problem with me, Professor? I get that my father doesn't like your books, but why are you taking it out on me?"

She looked stunned by the fact that he had talked back to her. Come to think of it, he was surprised too. Ron, despite his temper, had usually kept his cool around Professors. He'd usually managed to remember who was in charge, and bow his head to them, acting appropriately. Well, not always with Snape, but he was the one exception.

"I think you forget your place," Professor Kwikspell said. Her lips were pursed, her teeth gritted, and her anger was obvious as she spoke through them.

"What do you mean, Professor?"

"Who do you think you are, talking like this to a Hogwarts Professor?"

"Professor, I think I'm a person. I've never treated you with anything but respect, and you've treated me with nothing but contempt. Could you just tell me why you have a problem with me? Not with the Weasleys in general, but with me?"

The Professor was dumbstruck. She turned, and walked away. Ron thought about asking her if he'd still lost the house points, but he thought that might have been too much. Instead, he continued running down. Turning the corner, he suddenly collided with something, and fell flat on his back. 

He didn't see anything there. He squinted, and asked uncertainly, "Harry?"

"Bugger," a muffled voice said, and Harry pulled off his Invisibility Cloak. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at the Leaving Feast?"

"Shouldn't you? What are you up to, Harry?" Ron asked. Then he got angry. "You were trying to find him, weren't you? You were trying to leave again."

"Ron, I have to. It's my job to find him."

Ron replied, "Harry, if you keep this up, you're going to get killed. You're not ready."

"And when will I be?" Harry snapped back at him. "When you tell me I am? When Dumbledore does?"

"Well, that's a good start," Ron replied, "How about, when you've completed school? It might be nice to have another year of education behind you before you take him on. Or maybe, when you've gotten your Apportation license, so you don't have to take the Knight Bus to visit the Dark Lord."

"I wasn't going to take the Knight Bus this time," Harry said, sullen, "I was going to fly my broom." He waved his hand, showing the broom still hidden under the cloak.

"Beautiful, and where will you go?"

"I'm not sure," Harry replied. He didn't even seem to see how absurd his position was.

Ron sighed, "You know, Harry, I've heard people say that the standard Gryffindor battle plan is to scream and then leap. I always thought that was a little exaggerated. Until now."

Harry was defensive, "Look, it's not my fault if Voldemort is out to get me."

"But it will be your fault if he gets you," Ron answered, "And then it will all be over. Look, I know you'll end up doing what you want anyway, but can't you at least wait until you have a slightly more solid plan? Maybe you could at least figure out what you're going to scream, and where you are going to leap?"

Harry nodded. He looked sheepish. "Look, Ron, could you not mention this to Ginny? She still hasn't forgiven me for not being there when the bug got her."

"I'll think about it," Ron said, "if you'll promise to wait until at least next fall before you go running off. And if you'll promise to tell your friends before you do something stupid."

"Alright," Harry said, "I think I can agree to that. But if he comes after me, or my friends, I'm not going to let him get away."

"If he shows up on Privet Drive, Harry, you have my full blessing to take care of him," Ron said with mock solemnity, "as soon as he's done with the Dursley's"

"Agreed," Harry said, "Let's go to dinner."

Harry and Ron walked the rest of the way down to the Hall, and joined the celebration. The decorations were already up, in the familiar red and gold. "Wait, this isn't right," Ron said. "I thought Hufflepuff was in the lead."

"Didn't you hear?" Harry asked, "They ended up losing fifty points last night. Apparently Terry Boots was betting some first years that they wouldn't be brave enough to spend the night in the Arachneataur's lair."

"Well, then, I guess we won't need to have Dumbledore award us a pile of points at the last minute this year," Ron replied. He eyed Lavender -- she was sitting by herself, again, hunched over her plate at the end of the table. "Just a minute, Harry. There's something I have to take care of."

Harry followed his eyes. "I thought you and Hermione were, well, you know."

"We are. I think. Well, I know I am. It's complicated. But I can't just leave her alone. I don't think she has any other friends."

"Well," Harry said, clapping his hand on his shoulder, "we have a tradition of making that our problem, don't we. Want me to come along?"

"No, that's alright, Harry. I'll take care of it."

Ron sat down next to Lavender. "How are you doing?"

She looked up. She moved her hair out of the way. It was a mess, he saw. Her face was puffed up, and she had dark circles under her eyes. "Great," she said, smiling. It looked as if she hadn't smiled for years. "How about you?"

"Not bad," he said. "Look, I promised I would sit next to Hermione, but I really wanted to tell you how much I appreciated the time we spent talking this year."

"Me too," she said, although she looked less happy than she had a minute ago. "I wish we could have spent more time together."

"Maybe next year," he said, "If you don't mind hanging around with the rest of the group, that is."

"I think I could live with that," she said. "Will you write me this summer?"

"Absolutely," he said, and then he thought better. "Look, I'm not that good at writing, alright? If I just say that I'll write, I'll probably never get around to it. I'll promise to write you back each time you write to me, though."

"It's a deal," she said, and she held out her hand to shake. He took it, and she pulled him a little closer, and standing up on her toes, she kissed him quickly on the cheek. "Go ahead and get back to Hermione. Thanks for being a friend."

Ron was blushing, and he stammered his good bye. "I'll see you train on the tomorrow. I mean, tomorrow on the train. Take care."

Ron was on his way back to his normal seat, hoping that Hermione wouldn't give him the cold shoulder, but feeling better about himself for having talked with Lavender, when a Slytherin stepped into his way. It wasn't the usual Slytherin git, either.

"Zabini," Ron acknowledge coolly.

"Weasley," Blaise responded. "Would you mind if I had a talk with you in the corridor for a minute?"

Ron shrugged, and led the way out into the hall.

"So, Blaise, what did you need to talk about? Finally ready to lead a revolt against Malfoy?"

"No, I'm not here to talk about the Ferret."

Ron stifled a chuckle. He decided that Blaise couldn't be all bad, house aside, if he could joke about Draco. He replied thoughtfully, "Then what do you want to talk about?"

Blaise was direct. He responded, "You. And, more specifically, where you learned to crack a skull with one blow."

"That's kind of a long story," Ron said, wondering how much he should tell this, or any, Slytherin.

"I understand. To cut to the chase, then, my question is - would you like a sparring partner next year?" Seeing the mystified look on Ron's face, Blaise continued. "I know a few things about hand to hand fighting myself. I saw you out there with Professor Ding, practicing. You've got some amazing talent, but there's a lot for you to learn. I'd like to trade off; you teach me what you know, how to hit someone like a Norwegian Ridgeback."

"And what will you teach me?" Ron asked.

"How to duck," Blaise responded, smiling. "Do we have a deal?"

Ron thought, and then nodded. "I think so. Professor Ding said that she'd be too busy to practice with me next year, if she comes back to school at all. We'll have to find a better place to practice, though. The Pitch is too wide open, and I don't think you'll want to be seen with me."

Blaise smiled, broadly. "You're right about that," he said. "But, don't worry, I have a place in mind."

"Where?" Ron asked.

"Don't worry," Blaise repeated. "I'll lead you to it next fall. Just send me a copy of your schedule after the first week, and I'll figure out when we can get together."

"Sounds like a plan," Ron said, and he held out his hand. "See you in the fall?"

Blaise took his hand, and shook briefly, smirking back at Ron. "See you then."

They parted, by unsaid agreement walking back into the hall separately.

"So," Ron said to Hermione, sitting back down next to her as if nothing had happened, "did you ever find out anything more about the archaeologist?"

Hermione was taken aback by his abruptness, but recovered quickly. "Yes, I did. It turns out that he was on the trail of a famous object, called the Amulet of Yendor."

"What was this so-called Amulet supposed to do?" Ron replied.

"It was supposed to guarantee the immortality of the Wizard who wore it," she said, "but that's ridiculous, of course."

"Why?"

"Well, Salazar Slytherin himself was said to have owned it at one point, and if it gave him immortality, he would still be out there somewhere, wouldn't he?"

Ron looked at her. "You know, if I ranked arguments in the order that I'd like to hear, that's probably pretty low on the list."

"Why?" Hermione asked, looking puzzled, but Ginny broke in, sitting nearby.

Ginny looked somber. "Because, knowing Hogwarts, he probably is."


	14. Back to the Burrow

Ronald Weasley and the Armor of Gryffindor

**Chapter Fourteen : The Return to the Burrow**
    
    
    Never send a monster to do the work of an evil genius
    -- Unknown
    

Ron thanked Professor Ding profusely for her help this semester. She wasn't sure if she would be back the following year or not, but she promised to keep in touch, and Ron promised likewise. She gave Ron a Pensieve that had memories of her instruction. He felt almost like he was spying, seeing memories of her with her sensei, but he was very grateful to her for the thought.

Ron felt more like he would miss Hogwarts this summer than he ever had before. He had always felt like he was in someone else's shadow at Hogwarts, just as much as at home. This year, he had left that shadow.

There were a few people that he didn't get a chance to wish a proper good-bye to, before leaving Hogsmeade station, though. He smiled as he saw one of them on the Express.

Terry Boots turned his back on Ron, sliding past him sideways in the cramped corridor of the Hogwarts Express. Ron reached out, and grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Oh, sorry Ron, I didn't see you there," Terry stammered. "How have you been?"

"I've been alright, Terry, but I've heard something disturbing."

"What could that have been, I wonder," Terry said. His brow was sweating, and he let out a little laugh, like a frightened animal.

Ron looked stern, "I heard that you weren't paying on all your bets. There are a few disappointed Gryffindors that want to know where their money is."

Terry puffed himself up, "Ron, you know, they're just first-years. You know, the ones you call midgets? They should have known that there were risks in this business. You know, this could be a good lesson to them, help them become men, like us." He looked suddenly very self-important.

Ron hadn't thought of himself as a man yet. He knew that he was now of age in the wizarding world, but in his own mind, he was still the youngest of the Weasley boys. Terry's words, though, touched him. He realized that he was responsible for his house, and that he had let much of that responsibility lapse over the last year. He might argue that he'd had more important things to do, but that was a way of saying that he was still a child, that he hadn't, in fact, grown up as a result of his trials.

Ron looked at Terry. "You aren't a man," he said, his voice even, but backed with steel. "A man doesn't need to duck his responsibilities. I want to hear that you've paid every one of those students back before the end of the summer."

"And if you don't?" Terry asked, trying to look like he wasn't afraid of the tall, lanky Gryffindor, who still held his shoulder.

"Well, if I don't, Terry," Ron said, "then we'll have to talk about it again. I'm sure that the rest of the Prefects -- from all four houses -- would be interested. And if they're not, then perhaps your Head of House will."

"You wouldn't," Terry looked horrified. "You're not serious. There's no way you'd tell a Professor. I thought you were better than that."

"Terry," Ron said, looking again into the boy's eyes. "I'd rather not have to, but I will. That's part of what being a Prefect is about."

Terry was speechless. Ron doubted that he had the money on him, anyway, so he let go of Terry's shoulder with a gentle push. "I'll just expect to hear that everything's fine from the rest of the students by the end of the summer, then. Have a good holiday Terry. Don't work too hard."

Terry nodded, backing away. When he was a few steps from Ron, he turned and ran for the next car. There was a smattering of applause from behind Ron, and he turned to see what audience he had managed to gather. Crammed into the corridor behind Ron were Harry, Hermione, and Ginny. Well, he supposed it could have been worse. At least he hadn't seen Colin yet.

"Way to go, Ron," Ginny said. He didn't hear any sarcasm in her voice, but he assumed it was there anyway.

"Go on, say whatever you like," he snapped.

The applause stopped. "What do you mean?" Ginny asked. "Can't you take a compliment?"

"I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop, that's all. Perfect Prefect Weasley, the next Percy, coming down like a load of bricks on a student, and threatening to turn him in."

Hermione looked disbelieving, "You can't think we'd say that about you."

"Well, not you," Ron replied.

Ginny looked offended. "What, because we're not snogging, I can't think it's good that ickle Ronniekins is growing up?" She stuck her tongue out at Ron.

Harry took that opportunity to turn and kiss her. It was a deep, soulful kiss, the kind of kiss that should be someone's last. Especially if they were kissing his sister.

Ron growled. His fists were clenched. Hermione looked at him in alarm. "Ron, you can't do anything to Harry."

Ron shook his head. "I know," he said, and he let his fists unclench. "That doesn't mean I have to like it."

"You are growing up," Hermione said, with mock surprise.

"You don't have to sound so shocked," Ron grumbled back. He looked at Ginny and Harry, who were still in lip-lock. "Aren't they ever going to come up for air?"

"I don't know," she said. Her eyes twinkled. "Maybe we better not wait for them. I'm sure we can find some other way to occupy ourselves." She reached out a hand towards Ron, and led him towards an empty compartment, leaving Harry and Ginny embracing.

As they were about to get into the compartment, a flash of yellow hair caught his eye. "Just a second," he told Hermione. "There's something I have to take care of."

"Come on, Ron, I think you can leave Malfoy alone for now. He hasn't done anything on the whole trip back."

"But it's traditional for him to come into the station under the influence of a half-dozen hexes."

"Ron," Hermione said, taking his hand. "Maybe it's time for us to start a new tradition." She closed the door tightly behind them, locking it with a quick hex.

The Hogwarts Express pulled into the station a few hours later, and Hermione quickly put her hair in order, pulling off her robes, which were worn over a nice Muggle dress. They had spent the time quite well, in Ron's opinion, although he ached to spend even more time with her soon. He hoped that he wouldn't have to spend the whole summer apart from her.

They walked off the train together. Their trunks got in the way of holding hands, but they stood near to each other. Ron saw his parents waiting as they got off the train. "Well, I guess this is good-bye, at least for now."

"That's not exactly the most romantic farewell I've ever heard," Hermione replied back to him.

"Well, how about this, then," Ron said, and in full view of his parents, he took her by both arms, and pulled her in, kissing her.

He heard his mother's startled gasp, and knew that he might have to pay for acting that way in public later. He would at least receive a lecture for embarrassing the family, but it was worth it. He was finding that there were a lot worse things than lectures from his family, but there was nothing worse than letting Hermione down.

Hermione walked off, going to meet her parents on the outer platform. Ron watched her as she walked away. It wasn't until she'd left Platform 9 3/4 that he turned back to his parents. He only realized then that he still hadn't said 'I Love You.' He hoped that Hermione realized it, because he wasn't going to shout it out across the platform. Even his bravery had limits.

Ron was surprised to see his mother crying. "Mum, are you alright? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"No, that's alright," she said, moving forward to embrace Ron. "I just can't believe my last boy is growing up so fast." She hugged him tight enough that he was having trouble breathing. He hoped that not too many people were there to see this.

When she let him go, his father held out his hand, and Ron shook it gladly, happy not to repeat the embarrassing experience. "Ron, glad you made it through the year safely."

"Me, too," Ron said simply.

"I heard from Professor Snape that you had some difficulty keeping an eye on Harry."

Ron had been afraid that his father would bring that up. Before, he probably would have apologized or begged forgiveness. Now he just said, "Well, he survived."

Arthur nodded, "Yes, he did, thanks in part to Professor Snape finding him and helping him back to Hogwarts. If you had stopped him from leaving in the first place..."

"Da, he left in the middle of the night, without any kind of warning. I'll try to stop him from dying, but if he won't cooperate, there's not much I can do."

"I guess not," Arthur said softly. "If he's that determined to face You Know Who, I'm not sure what you even can do. Or what I'd want you to do. Harry will be of age in a few months, and then I don't know what anyone will be able to do to stop him. We'll be proud of you regardless, son. We know that you'll do whatever you can to defend your friends."

They came out of Platform 9 3/4 into the main station. Arthur didn't say anything more to Ron about it. Ron felt freed; his father's statements showed a level of trust that he hadn't felt before. His own brothers certainly hadn't been entrusted with it.

Despite having to say goodbye to his friends for the summer, Ron felt good. Whatever came next, he thought there was a chance he would be able to face it, not just as Harry's friend, but also as Ronald Weasley, hero in his own right.

~.~.~

Voldemort stood in a dank dungeon, far beneath Malfoy Mansion. He stood at the side of a large round stone table, which was ringed with ancient runes. The Dark Lord tapped his fingers impatiently, his eyes fixed on one of his associates across the table.

"I am greatly disappointed with you, Mister Vrag. Not only did you fail to find the Armor of Gryffindor first, it appears that you may have also contributed to its discovery by the young Weasley brat. Do you believe that there is some reason why you still breathe?"

Despite the Dark Lord's question, Valentin wasn't doing much breathing right now. It became apparent that Voldemort was going to wait for an answer before continuing, though. "My Lord, as I understood it, you were allowing me to search for the Armor on my own initiative. I had never promised to find it for you."

"No," Voldemort slammed his palm down, "You did not. You didn't mention that your own little quest might result in the death of my greatest servant yet."

Peter Pettigrew sniveled in the corner, but the Dark Lord turned to him. "Be quiet, Wormtail."

Voldemort turned back to Vrag. "My Arachneataur was supposed to have been this great giant! He was supposed to have the strength of a dozen men! Do you know how he died? Killed by a Bludger Bat to the head, because you let that young man have the armor!" All around him, Voldemort's servants were edging out of view. None of them wanted to be witness to what was to come, since the Dark Lord's anger often spilled over onto people who were merely in the same room.

"Well, then," Valentin said, trying to muster up some courage, "I must ask your permission to leave your island, so that I cause no further trouble to you. I will send you something in recompense - perhaps the heads of a dozen Muggles on pikes? They can give the room a certain atmosphere."

Voldemort's lip curled. "I don't think so." He pointed his wand at Valentin, and as soon as he could say _'Avada Kedavra'_, the Bulgarian's corpse lay on the ground.

Voldemort turned to Pettigrew, who was cowering in the corner. The Dark Lord's wand was vibrating, and Peter looked sure that this would be the end. "You! Send this useless corpse back to Bulgaria. Strip it of anything valuable first."

"Yes, Master," Peter said, bowing and scraping as he walked over to the corpse. He wondered if the Dark Lord would notice if he added a lisp -- it seemed like it would fit his current position.

"Now," Voldemort said, turning back to his other guests, who seemed so far undisturbed by the display, "What do you have to say?"

The two guests were both wearing dark robes pulled over their foreheads. One of the two pulled her hood back, revealing raven-colored hair over impossibly fair skin. "We have some information for you, my Lord. Information that I believe you will find quite useful."

"Before you waste my time," the Dark Lord said, "Are you certain that this information is worth the price, should it fail to meet my expectations?"

"My Lord, unlike the departed Mister Vrag, we will not claim the ability to exploit this information on our own, nor will we ask any price other than your continued goodwill towards us. If there is a failure, it will be on the part of one of your servants." She looked pointedly at Pettigrew, who looked at the ground as he continued to drag the corpse out of the room.

"I confess to being intrigued," the Dark Lord said, his pointed fingers scratching at a non-existent goatee. "I will hear you out, and I may be able to reward you, if it is as you say."

"When you are truly immortal," the woman said, "I believe that your kindness to us will be reward enough."

Coming Soon: Hermione Granger and the Amulet of Yendor


End file.
